


She

by AliceInPunderland, billiero666



Category: Green Day
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, OC, References to Drugs, Romance, Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInPunderland/pseuds/AliceInPunderland, https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiero666/pseuds/billiero666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>trigger warning; self-harm</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. In Which I Get Much More Than A Family Friend: Jenny Rend

Quiet. Finally, somewhere I could escape. I loved the library, so much. I preferred to consider it more of a second home then a place to rent books. Yeah, people still stared at me but, I didn’t mind. They could stare all they want. I didn't care what they thought about my bright pink fauxhawk or my leather jacket that I think made me look twice my size. It was me, and I loved me, for the most part anyway. Lifting my head a bit, I looked around to see the new group of people staring at me, but among the crowd there was a familiar face. Blond hair, spiked up, a diamond stud piercing his ear, ocean blue eyes. Mike fucking Dirnt. I would know that face anywhere. Our mothers were best friends, almost sisters. Therefore we were forced to hang out with each other as children, but I hadn't seen him much since, if at all.

"Mikey!" I smiled a bit, as he turned his head, looking at me slightly confused but smiling as soon as he recognized me. "Jenny." I could barely hear it, but in the dead silence it stood out. I didn't bother getting up when I saw him walking towards me through, what was really a crowd, as big of a crowd as a library can get anyway. I stood, our two bodies came together in a fairly awkward hug. Quickly we released each other and I sat back down into the wooden chair, him sitting at my side.

My eyes quickly fell to the ground, as memories from the past flooded into my mind, but I pushed them away before anyone including myself could really notice.

So.. umm..." I said, attempting to start a conversation. "How's it going?" I manage only a glance up towards him, just enough to see him nod. 

"Pretty good, I finally got that band going." A small smile seemed to hint at the corner of his mouth. 

"Nice, at least one of us had our dreams come true." I threw only a hint of sarcasm in that last statement, even though it was as true as could be.

"True. Anyway, enough about me. How's it going with what's-his-face?" He rested an elbow on the fake wood table. I chuckled quietly."Alex? Oh, I ended that long ago. Around the second date, actually. He didn’t want to accept me for me, and I’m not going to change for some douche ass motherfucker." Mike smiled a bit, something seemed to be buzzing in his little brain, but who knows what it was. 

Loud obnoxious laughter filled the library, causing everybody to turn and look, including myself and Mike. Two guys stood in the doorway of the building. Both nice looking, but one, of course, far more attractive than the other. The less attractive one had a neon green fauxhawk as well, at least it looked like it, his eyes were nearly impossible to even guess the right colour, considering his irises were surrounded by bright red. Drugs. He had to be on drugs, more specifically weed. By the way he stumbled, who knew what else he was on. 

Now, the other was much more pleasing to the eye. Blue hair scattered every which way, green eyes with subtle brown and gold flecks. His irises surrounded by a less vibrant shade of red, a cheap black suit and a white collared shirt that was stained with what was probably some sort of alcoholic beverage, a red tie lazily tied around his neck. Probably there to cover the stains, but it wasn't doing a very good job. At all.

The two of them stumbled in our direction, the green haired one running into almost everything. Was he possibly having some fun with the zebra my father told me about years ago, and later found out dealt him drugs and other illegal items and who knows what else.

My eyes remained on the more attractive one as he helped to somewhat steady the less attractive one. Mike turned to me, holding back his laughter best he could. Quickly the other two found their way over, ungracefully, but they did it, sitting down on a couple wooden chair across from us. 

"This is Billie Joe Armstrong, our lead singer and guitarist." Mike stated, as he gestured towards the more attractive blue haired one. "And this would be Trè Cool, the drummer." His glance shifting over to the green-haired-less-attractive-one. Billie Joe, and Trè. Pretty easy names to remember, if not a bit odd. 

"And you are?" I had apparently drifted off into a daydream, I couldn't tell you what it was about but it was a good one. Definitely a good one. I looked up to see Billie Joe's eyes on me. Did he ask me something? Oh right, who I am. "I'm Jenny, Jenny Rend." I smiled a bit as he returned it. I looked over at Trè, only to see that he was fascinated by his hand. Billie chuckled quietly as his glance as as well shifted down to the less attractive one who now had a name. My eyes shifted quickly back to Billie Joe, and his returned to me. I got lost in his green eyes. There was so much depth, so much intelligence hidden in them, a story just waiting to be told. I sighed quietly, resting my head on my hand, my eyes never losing his. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mike stand. 

"Well, I think Trè should get back to the house.. see you two later." He walked over to Tré, pulling him up out of the chair and pushing him out the door.

I forced myself to keep from losing myself in his eyes again. "So, Billie Joe... Mind if I just call you Beej? I think that would make it easier for both of us." He nodded a bit, a little distracted. "Yeah, that'd be fine." I nodded a bit, forcing myself to look away from him so it didn't seem like I was staring off into Jenny-land with him as my subject.

"Hey, would you maybe want to come to one of the band's shows later? Its just a thought, I mean I completely understand if you don't want to..." his voice carried off. Immediately, I nodded. 

"Yeah, I would love to actually. When's your next one?" I tried not to sound too desperate or to excited, more of a balance between the two of them, but probably failing on both counts.

"Umm, our next one is actually in about an hour." He looked down at his watch, probably to assure himself of the time. "Alright, I'll be there." I smiled kindly, he returned it briefly. 

"How about I drive us?" He smiles, winking gently. My cheeks quickly get warm. Was Beej asking me out on a date? This would be probably the first time.. ever. Not counting the time back in kindergarten when I had red hair, and still believed in God. Back when I was still innocent, I prefer to think of that time as my 'dark days' because they really were my dark days. 

"Sure, works for me."

Time literally seemed to fly by for about the next half hour or so as the two of us talking about what was really nothing. He looked down at his watch mumbling a quiet "Oh shit.." before standing and returning his now friendly glance to me "We’re going to be late, and I think the guys took the bookmobile so, we have to run." Quickly, I pushed myself up out of my chair, not bothering to push it back under the table, quickly grabbing my leather jacket as we hurried out of the silence of the library and into the loud, obnoxious streets of Berkeley. People rushed in currents, back and forth as buses, cars and trucks clogged the roads for miles. Beej and I burst through the clusters of people as we ran on the sidewalk, and soon into the side of the road. We ran for about 8 blocks before we stood outside the door to a small, brown worn-down house.

Beej pressed a hand to the door, pushing it open, letting the scent of alcohol and smoke flood into the open as people walked around with red cups, drinks splashing out of them as they were pushed around.

He grabbed my hand. "Just follow me." He almost had to shout to overcome the noise of the crowd. His hand was warm, and strong as it took mine, leading me through the labyrinth of people and down a wooden staircase to a darker basement. A cheap black rented stage was set up in the back of the room, a drum set already assembled as it sat towards the back of the stage, a couple guitars set on stands farther towards the front and a microphone set closest to the front. Standard band set up. I couldn't quite tell what the logo was on the bass drum but it was definitely green, a familiar green. I was pulled once more by him to a small room just beside the stage, a gold star that was probably from the dollar store hung crooked on the front door.

He opened it, and released my hand as we both walked in. Mike and Trè were both sitting in chairs. Mike smiled as he saw us. 

"Right on time. Nicely done, Billie." His glance then shifted to me "And you brought Jenny, wow, you're one lucky son of a bitch tonight." Beej chuckled at his comment. I blushed only lightly hoping it wasn't noticeable. 

"You know, she's probably one of the best girls I've ever met." I could feel my face heating up with all the compliments Billie was giving me. No one ever complimented me, and definitely not like that. 

"We're not dating." I stated.

Mike looked almost surprised at this. "Really? I figured he asked you out already. You two looked like you were hitting it off at the library." I tried to hold back a smile, but the fight didn't last long. Tré spun around in his chair before suddenly stopping and looking at Mike. 

"I bet he already banged her then." Beej and I both blushed at the suggestion. "I'll just wait for you guys outside.." Things were getting too awkward for me, so I walked out, being sure to close the door but the last thing I heards was Trè asking if Beej had banged me yet. Quickly after that I shut the door and smiled, taking an empty chair from the small audience.

I sat there replaying the events that had just happened over and over again in my head. I couldn't keep myself from smiling as I thought about the feeling of when he took my hand in his, the foreign warmth and energy that was created in those few seconds. It was probably nothing to him, but it was almost everything to me. Not to mention his eyes, there is so much more to them then what was on the surface, so many secrets, so much pain. They were screaming for help but his smile insisted he was fine. I didn't know what to believe, so I guess I just have stick around and find out.

The boys took the stage about 7 minutes after I left, Beej had a black jacket covering up a few more of the stains on his white shirt, Mike was dressed in an orange striped tank top, one sleeve was close to falling off his shoulder. Tré sat at the drums smiling mischievously at the audience. Beej and Mike each grabbed a guitar. Billie's was a light powder blue that was partially covered in mismatched stickers. He soon stepped up to the microphone and smiled directly at me. I blushed, returning it. His glance then returned to the condensing crowd. "Hi, we’re Green Day." The name was familiar. I’d heard of them, at least, been told they’re great. They’re almost famous, actually. Whoops and cheers echoed through the basement, I soon joined. 

Beej simply smiled and waited for the noise to die down a bit. "And we’re going to fuck some shit up!" The noise resumed as Trè began a song with the drums Mike and Beej soon joining in. The song was kind of Spanish sounding to start out with, but then he kicked in with the lyrics "Well I got a fever, a non believer, I'm in the state of grace. For I am a Caesar I'm gonna seize the day." I smiled and clapped to the beat, many others soon joining in.

The concert continued for at least another half hour, maybe more. Probably more. I smiled as they finished their last song, saying a quick thanks then walking off stage, then in my direction. I couldn't stop smiling 

"What did you think of it?" Trè asked, standing in between Mike and Beej, resting an arm on each of them. 

"Umm.. it was okay, I mean it could use some improvement." I was such a terrible liar, and I knew it too. I had been told that many, many times. 

"What made it okay, and not great?" Beej smiled, folding his arms across his chest, awaiting an answer. I had no response. Think Jenny think. He actually values your opinion, so give it. Don't lie to them again, fix it, goddamnit! I'm reminded slightly of a period I went through in high school, not as long ago as I'd like to think. I had a self-hate like no other, and I often shouted at myself like this, the words eventually becoming razors on skin. Jackets exist for a reason. But maybe I'd like to show him these scars. I can see it now. He doesn't seem like an asshole like the string of trashy guys I dated in the past year, and the scenario plays out in my head. Maybe we live together, or I'm staying the night at his house. I take off my jacket for the first time in front of him, but keep my forearms to myself, until we curl up on the couch, maybe to watch a movie, or, you know, other things. And he sees them, takes my arm in his hands, and kisses me. I realize I've been standing there, not talking, and I try to make something up.

"Umm.. I don't know, it was.. um.." why the fuck was I even trying to lie? I was blown away by the sound three obviously frequently-drugged guys could produce. The three of them began to laugh, I soon joined in with more of small chuckle then a laugh. 

"How about I get you a drink, and you tell me why we were only okay." Beej suggested, his eyes suggesting a lot more than just that. I didn't reply for a second, just to build up the tension until I finally gave into his offer.

He walked me over to the makeshift bar, ordering me a beer. "Thats the only decent thing they have here." I smiled, catching the bottle as it slid down the countertop, taking a quick swig. 

"Even the beer isn't that great." I smiled, and so did he. 

"Yeah, I know I said it was decent, not good. So, why don't you tell me why we were only okay?" He rested his elbow in the counter, awaiting my answer. No more fucking lying. 

"You guys were actually surprisingly good now that I think about it." My eyes soon landed on the ground, I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as he chuckled 

"I figured you were. You're a terrible liar by the way, don't do it." I smiled again, forcing myself to look back up at him, taking another swig of beer. 

"So, how about you tell me how you and Mike met," I say, like a mother being introduced to her daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. I leaned gently on the countertop, giving him my full attention as I awaited an answer.

"Well.. umm.. I guess it all kind of started back in 5th grade. I always wanted to start a band, and I found out Mike could play some guitar so, we attempted to start one but miserably failed. One good thing that did come from that failure was the beginning of Mike and I. We obviously never gave up on the idea of starting a band because we're Green Day now." He smiled, causing me to smile as well. 

"I figured it was going to be one of those 'share a cookie over lunch' friendships, but obviously that isn't the case." My eyes soon shifted from him to the scratched up tile floor. 

"So, how did you meet Mikey?" Beej shifted the question to me this time. 

"Well, I think it started when I was maybe two, and Mike was about 5 or so, and our mothers were friends, so we hung out almost all the time. He taught me how to be me, and not another image society created. I didn't really give him much in return. And, I prefer to think of us as more brother and sister, then friends because he is more family than anyone in my actual blood-related family." Was I really telling this almost-stranger so much about Mike and I's past? Yeah, I guess I was. 

We sat there for the next hour or so just asking sometimes pointless questions and sometimes deep questions about each other, such as what's your favourite colour or colours, I found out that his were black, blue and, green. I also learned that he hated pink, but he also said that I looked good with pink hair. I also found out that when he was 5, his father and mother got a divorce and he later ran away and lived with Mike for a few months because his mother had became a druggie. 

I looked back, checking the time of a crooked clock, that had its glass partially missing and cracked. It read about 2:48 from what I could figure out. 

"Hey, do you want to maybe stay at our place tonight?" Beej smiled a bit as he glanced from the counter to me, how the hell could I ever say no to those beautiful eyes? 

"Yeah, sure." My stomach tossed and turned as butterflies pounded against it at the thought of staying at Beej's apartment. My heart rate spiked as I pushed myself out of the chair, and he took my hand. We were both fairly sober, having only had a few beers.

He led me out of the basement and, we weaved through the mounds of either passed-out or making-out people. He pushed the door open, and we walked out into the chill of the 2 AM air.

"Fuck.. why do they always leave me?.." he was fairly loud. There were only four maybe five cars left parked on the street, but all of them were small cars, none of them fit the description of the Bookmobile I had gotten earlier. Large, white, one of the many "I would know it if I saw it" things, that always turned out to be more of a Where's Waldo deal. 

"I guess we just have to walk.. its not that far, only a few blocks." I nodded. We walked to their apartment in silence, neither of us knowing what to say. He was right when he said it was a short walk, it took us maybe 20 minutes to get back. We stood outside the doorway into their apartment and he turned to me.

"It's a mess in there. Don't say I didnt warn you." He pushed the door open and I took a quick glance around. Other than the stacks of pizza boxes, clusters of empty beer cans, and used drug containers, it wasn't terrible. 

"See what I mean? These boys are definitely something." I was sure Beej was at least a third of this mess, if not more. I followed him in. Mike and Trè were no where to be seen, at least from what I could see over the mounds of pizza boxes. I couldn't hold back a yawn, and escaped just in time to have Beej turn to me, a gentle smile spread across his face. "You tired already?" Of course I was, but I wasn't planning on bringing this night to an end anytime soon. "Of course not. Its only three." I tried to sound believable but it didn't work out to well. My wondrous lying skills.

"Well, I am. How about a movie? You can pick," Beej suggested and walked over to the fridge, grabbing a beer "You want one?" I really did, but I didn't want to forget this night due to alcohol "Nah, I'm good." I knelt down looking through their fairly small collection of DVD's which consisted mostly of porn. The joys of three guys living together. After a long, hard decision I went with the classic Breakfast Club, putting it in then sitting down on the couch, my hand gently going acrossed the cracked brown leather. It wasn't even a minute before Beej sat down, close next to me as the familiar song rang out through the apartment, him soon joining in "Don't you, forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't!" He stopped only to take a swig of his beer, we both grew silent as the movie began. 

The room quickly became a blur as sleep filled my mind. I felt his arm go across my shoulders just before darkness completely captured me, my head resting peacefully on his shoulder. A night I would never forget.


	2. In Which I Am The Girl At The Rock Show: River Smith

I walk into the house, the one I was told the show was at. I don't know anybody here, but that's normal, I guess. The music hasn't started yet, and the couch is occupied by a couple making out already, so I get a drink and stand against the wall. I've always wondered where the drinks come from at shows like this. Surely no one here can afford that much beer. Not that I'm complaining. I observe the party. I'm not very social, really only here for the music, in fact.

And then I see him. He's standing across the room, leaning against the wall, arms folded, and his eyes are on... me, of all things. He sees me seeing him and looks away awkwardly. He's not bad looking, either, actually quite attractive. Not tall, but not short, either, and he's wearing a leather jacket over a Bouncing Souls T-shirt. Shorter bleach-blonde hair, spiked, and a little bit of sideburn. I can't tell what color his eyes are from this far away and something inside me decides that I need to know. And soon. So I pull the stupidest move of the night and cross the room. He knows I'm coming and watches me walk up.

Blue. They're blue. I feel an odd sense of disappointment. I don't know why.

"Hey," he says, simply enough.

"Hey," I reply.

And the band begins. He ignores it and now I'm taking his lead.

"I'm Mike," he says, "You looked pretty lonely over there. It's a punk show. You've gotta be here with somebody?" A look of disappointment in those blue eyes. Now that I look closer, they're not just blue. They're deeper than that. I shake my head no and they light up.

NOTE TO SELF

Keep the light in those eyes.

"No... I don't really... I don't talk to people a lot. I get nervous. Like I'm gonna fuck something up." I don't know why I'm telling him this. I've never told anyone this, let alone some random punk I met at a house show.

"I know how you feel. Tha- that's why I didn't come over and talk to you, before. I didn't wanna make you feel scared or threatened and...." he trails off, face going red. I concentrate on his eyes, contrasting so highly with his pink face.

"Hey. It's okay. I get it. Two awkward kids at a punk show. We've established that," I say, trying to sound confident but in the end just making my voice shake more.

"Yeah. And... I never got your name."

"River. River Smith."

"Well, River Smith, I think we both need a cigarette." He takes me out to the backyard and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. Somebody's started a bonfire in a circle and a bunch of people sit around it, laughing and talking. They obviously know each other. We don't. So we stand off to the side as he pulls a cigarette out of the pack and puts it between his lips, lighting it with a slick Zippo from the same pocket. He takes a long drag then hands it to me as he lets go a puff of smoke. I accept it politely and try to take a drag but fail miserably and just end up sputtering and coughing. We both laugh at that and he takes the tiny paper tube back and puts it back between his own lips. Wait, I think, his lips touched it. Then mine. Then his again. That's like kissing. But more deadly. I laugh a little at that and he smiles.

"Not a smoker, huh?" he says, "That's okay. Sorry for dragging you out here."

"No, no that's fine! It's a nice night," I say, and shiver, evidently incorrect. He promptly takes off his jacket even though he must be cold and drapes it around my shoulders.

"No, that's fine, keep it, it's cold!" He shrugs.

"Precisely. And what kind of a gentleman would I be not to offer a lady my jacket?" I smile at that and that just lights his eyes up even more. I notice now that he has a few tattoos on each side. I sigh.

"I suppose I can't argue with that logic." We stay outside and talk even after he finishes his cigarette until someone walks up to us, someone with a green fauxhawk. This man is shorter and stockier than Mike and seems to know him.

"Jesus, Mike, is this where you've been this whole time? Oh, and you picked up a chick. And she's wearing your coat. Is it because you just fucked her in the house next door or cause it's cold? I wouldn't put either of 'em past you, ya chivalrous stud. Come on. We're on in five, man, and Billie's been lookin' for you for ages. I'm Tré, by the way," he says, looking at me and winking during the last sentence. He talks fast, but somehow still sounds stoned, and I wonder what he would sound like un-stoned. Maybe a possessed five-year-old.

"River. My name's River," I say, and he nods and grabs Mike.

"Nice to meet you, River, but I'm afraid I've got to steal ol' Mikey Bear from you. He happens to be the best bassist-slash-guitarist-slash-backing-vocalist this side of anywhere. Wait, never mind, follow us! As potential mate-of-a-bandmate, you can come backstage and help us set up. Three minutes, you know, and desperate times." He grabs me too and we are off, in the house and down the basement steps in no time. There's a makeshift stage set up and and guy on it setting up a guitar and bass amp. A noticeably short guy with blue hair. He must be the Billie Joe that Tré had been talking about. She gets up on the stage and Tré hands her a set of keys.

“Mike, River, go get the drums outta the Bookmobile while I help BJ with the guitars.” He flashes a smile and we realize why as the blue-haired boy from the stage shouts.

“Tré! I thought I told you not to call me BJ!” he’s really only half-shouting, though. There is noticeable affection in the statement.

“Alright, then, run along you two, don’t be late.” Tré says. As we hurry to finish getting their shit together, Tré shouts after us: “And don’t be making out on my drum kit!” We both laugh at that, though me a bit more nervously than him. He’s obviously used to his bandmates’ antics. We walk back out into the cool night air and I’m grateful for the extra protection his jackets lends, though he has to be freezing. I try again to give it back to him but he again declines.

“No, I’m fine! We’ll be back inside in a minute, anyways.” He’s very convincing. He leads me to the bookmobile I had seen down the street earlier, and I remember wondering why it was there. Now, the purpose is evident as a band needs to keep all their shit in one place.

“Keys?” Mike asks. I place them into his outstretched hand and he unlocks the back of the overlarge vanlike vehicle into... a pit. Drums, guitars, microphones, empty pizza boxes, even a- oh god- used condom. Mike groans at the sight of that.

“Oh, come on, Tré, really? It’s called a garbage can,” he says, “Just go around it. Would you get the snare and a tom?” Realizing I have no clue what he’s talking about, he points, gesturing to two smaller drums in the corner. I hop into the back and pick them up, finding them surprising light. Mike grabs another tom, as he called it, and a large kick drum. On the front of the kick drum, in black and green paint of some kind, it says in large letters, GREEN DAY.

“So you’re the famous Green Day I’ve been hearing all about, huh?” I ask, and he laughs.

“Famous isn’t the word. Gently recognized, I think. In this area and this scene, maybe, but honestly, I think not.” This time, it’s me that laughs. We both exit the vehicle and he kicks the door shut. Someone holds the door for us when we walk in and I realize the perks of "being with the band." Once we get the drums into the basement, Tré thanks us both a bit too profusely. He sets them up in the back, leaving Mike and I alone.

“I should probably, um, go play some music, then...” Mike says, trailing off awkwardly.

“Yeah, you should do that, and anyways, I wanna see you play,” I say. In reality, I don’t want him to go. He lends a sense of safety that I can’t remember feeling since I was... I don’t even know. I think he knows that, because he almost hugs me before he goes up the short makeshift steps to the stage. Billie Joe has the mic now and all eyes are on him. Except mine. Mine are on the man to his left, the chivalrous stud, in Tré’s words. I do listen as Billie Joe starts talking, though, a blue guitar slung across his body, covered in stickers and duct tape letters.

“How’s it going?” he says, and the crowd responds with a resounding, “Let’s fuck shit up!” He laughs and begins to play his guitar, Mike backing him with powerful bass chords. My eyes are on him the whole time, and he sees me, and winks. I smile as he returns his full attention to the song.

“Do you have the time, to listen to me whine? About nothing and everything at once?” Billie Joe sings, Mike joining him on the last part, “I am one of those melodramatic fools, neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it!” The song is punctuated by a surprisingly tight drum rhythm held together by Tré, every so often making ridiculous faces at the crowd. I love it. It is as simple as that. I can’t help but go to join in on the coalescing mini mosh pit as they explode into the chorus.

“Sometimes I give myself the creeps, sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. It all keeps adding up. I think I’m cracking up. Am I just paranoid? Am I just stoned?” This is decidedly my favorite part of the song, as it is the part that features Mike the most heavily. I dance and jump with the rest of the people in the pit, and for the first time in a long time, I feel at home.

The band plays. I give my spot in the pit over to someone else and watch Mike. They finish Basket Case, as I learn the song was called, and go into another song. At this point, though they’re fantastic, my attention is solely on Mike. We communicate through eye contact and head nods, and they finish yet another song. This time they pause before starting the next one. And then the drums kick in almost hypnotically. Mike lays down a prominent bass part and then Billie Joe begins to sing. About boredom, about laziness. About exactly what I felt. The whole big joke of it all. Loneliness. Indignance. It is beautiful. And their harmonies soar.

"I've got no motivation, where is my motivation, no time for motivation," the two sing as if they've been doing this for a million years.

The rest of their concert is a blur of understanding. They get me. I identify so thoroughly with their songs that it's terrifying, but it's beautiful as well. The overwhelming feeling of togetherness and warmth and home nearly broke me down several times, but every time, Mike caught my eye and made it better. He really did have remarkable eyes for no other reason than their depth of emotion and understanding. After they finished packing up, I was just about to leave when Mike stopped me.

"Hey, where you going?" He asked, and laughed, "I haven't bought you a drink yet." This catches me off guard.

"Oh, no, that's fine, you don't- you don't have to do that." But he is insistent, and I fail to mention drinks are free at the punk show.

"I'll be right back," he says, smiling. He dashes off like some kind of gangly bleach-blonde antelope and I nearly burst out laughing. While he’s gone, Billie Joe and Tré walk up as if they own the place.

“So you’re Mike’s new girl, huh?” Billie says.

“Not that he has a lot of them,” Tré adds, and giggles, obviously stoned off his ass. He begins to sing quietly to himself, something about rolling joints.

“Ah.... not really, I think, I mean, we just met and all...”

“You’re wearing his jacket.” I’m grateful as Billie Joe cuts off my disjointed stream of words. I withdraw inside myself a little bit, pulling the edges of the offending jacket around me.

“Yeah...” I am saved yet again, this time by Mike. He’s got two beers and he hands one to me, looking at his bandmates. He’s at least three inches taller than the both of them.

“Are you giving this young lady trouble?” he asks his bandmates, and they all burst out laughing. “Seriously, though, leave her alone.” I even laugh along a little myself, though I’m still a bit scared. Billie Joe looks across the room for a moment, then spots whatever or whoever he’s looking for.

“Hey! Jenny!” he shouts across the space and a girl with a pink fauxhawk that I’d seen earlier walks over. She looks me up and down.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me?” she asks, grabbing his beer and taking a gulp, “She is cute, I’ll give her that.” They both laugh and he kisses her on the forehead, only a few inches taller than the noticeably short girl. She’s wearing a large leather jacket, but I don’t think it’s his. I will admit, I am a bit intimidated by her.

“God no,” he says, “You and I both know I could never break up with you." Tré comes out of his drug-induced stupor to interject with a strong gagging noise coupled with a ‘get a room!’ and another vaguely terrifying giggle.

“Good, cause I’m not letting you leave. But if she’s not your new boo, then who is she?” She looks me up and down again, “Wait, let me guess. She’s Mike’s type. Quiet. Cute. Don’t worry, kid, I don’t bite.” She calls me kid even though she can’t be older than me. She laughs fiercely and Tré makes a ding-ding-ding noise like we’re on a game show. Mike and I both look around awkwardly, and I can feel myself blush as I watch him do the same. She extends her hand, a motion I have never once seen at a punk show.

“I’m Jenny. Nice to meet you, I think, or rather, I hope.” I take her hand and shake as firmly as I can muster.

“I’m River,” I say, and then quickly add on, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Hippie parents, huh? S’okay, I got the most generic name on the planet. You can’t pick your name any more than you can pick your family.”

“You’re wrong on both counts, J,” Mike says quietly. She looks at him, “You can pick your name. And your family. You of all people should know that.” I can tell he’s brought up a touchy subject, and everyone goes quiet.

“Shut up, Pritchard,” she says, and walks away.

“Oh, come on, man, you made her run away! Jenny!” Billie Joe shouts first at Mike and then after his girlfriend, going after her. Tré drifts away eventually with some of his stoner buddies and Mike and I are left alone again. We stand awkwardly for a moment. I clear my throat and break the ice.

“So, think I can get a shirt for that band of yours?” Mike sips his beer.

“Yeah, come on. Merch is over here," he says, obviously glad to have something to do. We walk back down the stairs to the basement where the show had been to a pile of instruments and band things. Mike digs out a large cardboard box, the muscles in his bare arms flexing. He sets it down on the floor in front of us and pops it open.

"What size are you?" He asks.

"Ladies small." He digs a shirt out of the box. It's white with a red picture of a dog on it, and it says "slappy" at the bottom. As get my wallet out of my back pocket to pay, I could swear I see him slip something in the folds of the shirt. He acts completely normal, though, so I dismiss it immediately.

"And you're not paying. It's all I can do," he says. He really is making this whole ordeal unfair, doing everything for me. And those eyes. Damn, I could stare at them for hours. "And don't bother protesting." I smile sheepishly.

"Thanks..." I trail off into a yawn.

"Tired?" He smiles. I realize I don't have a clue what time it is. It had to have been pretty late, being that I got here at ten, Bad Religion started maybe thirty minutes later, then Green Day another hour later, maybe an hour and a half. So it could be almost three in the morning. Shit. I did not intend to be here that long.

"Yeah, I guess..." Another yawn. Damn. He hands me the shirt.

"Take this. I'm taking you home." This time, I have to protest.

"What- no, I'll be fine!"

"No, you won't. You'll fall asleep on some couch and before you know it you'll wake up in some random guy's bed. I'm taking you home." I sigh. Again, I have to submit. We go up the stairs yet again and he shouts at Billie Joe, evidently the more reliable of his two band members.

"Billie Joe!" He shouts, and the blue-haired vocalist breaks his face away from Jenny's for a moment, "I'm taking River home! I'll be back in a bit!" Billie Joe laughs.

"Don't forget the condoms, then, they're in the glovebox!"

"Not like that, BJ, to her house!"

"Whatever you say, Mike." He goes back to his previous task and I laugh. Mike is as pink as a flamingo and we spend the rest of the walk to the bookmobile in silence. Once we get in, though, he apologizes.

"Sorry about them," he says, "They can be a bit.... overwhelming, I guess." I laugh.

"No, it's fine. I- I had a really nice time. Thank you," I say, and for a moment, we just sit there in an almost comfortable silence. Then he starts the vehicle and asks me where I live. I tell him and then we just talk. We pull into my driveway only a few minutes later but already I don't want to get out. But I have to. And all good things must end.

"So this is it, huh?" He said, a little wistfully. It breaks my heart a little to hear the genuine sadness in his voice.

"Yeah," I say.

"I'll walk you to the door," he says, and this time, not a thought of protest crosses my mind. We walk to my front door and I unlock it then open it, but turn around before I go inside to see him still on my doorstep.

"Goodbye, Mike. It really was nice to meet you- I hope I see you again." And just like that, he kisses me. Clumsily, sloppily, but he fits perfectly against me. We break off after a moment but our faces remain close, amber locked against deep blue. 

He walks away after that, taking a large part of me with him.

Oh, shit. I'm still wearing his jacket.


	3. In Which I Meet Stoner Bugs Bunny And Sample His Brownies: Lenora Dali

I roll my eyes. This is a common occurrence in my life and one certain readers will have to get used to.   
This particular eye-roll is directed at Steven, a pimply and particularly incompetent intern, unfortunately senior to me in years if not IQ.   
The man wants to know if he should set up chairs for the seniors for whom this picnic has been arranged.   
“No Steve,” I say, unable to stem the sarcasm flowing from the tips of my toes through my mouth, “We should let the brittle, arthritis ridden senior citizens lower themselves onto the ground and sit there upon their brittle, arthritis ridden rear-ends.”  
His eyebrows come together in confusion. “So...no?”   
“Yes, put the friggin’ chairs up!” I snap and he scurries away.   
I lean back against the pole of the gazebo located in the lovely, green, flowered park and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why did I let Salinas talk me into this? Yeah, sure, I like old people, but the idiot I had been conversing with was most certainly not a octogenarian.   
But hey, it was Salinas. I should have known the idea was crap. Good taste in music, shitty ideas, that’s Salinas.   
Salinas Jackson, her real name is Cynthia, but she’s from Salinas, so that’s what we called her, is my roommate. She has long, feathery blue hair, spends much of her time shrouded in an enormous leather coat that makes her look like a raven, and likes to torment me with ideas to get me out of the house. There was a reason my degree was in sound design. I like to sit and listen to stuff, in the safety of a sound booth. When I want to get out I go to the shop where I work and tinker with Mary Lou, the Cadillac I’m fixing up. Kev says if I can fix her, I can keep her, and boy do I want that girl.   
I most certainly did not sign up to plan picnics for old people when I came to Berkeley.  
I take off the scarf covering my hair and run my hands over the dark auburn french braid that keeps all of my hair firmly attached to my head, pushing back the sweaty strands that have escaped. I take a deep breath and look up, surveying the scene.   
Card tables are set up in the grass, facing the gazebo where the band is supposed to play, weighed down with food. Stacks of packaged paper plates, cups and plastic utensils are spread everywhere when I wish they weren’t, because they’re wasteful and Earth-killing. Hey, let’s face it, I’m a bit of a hippie. Only a bit. I’m more of the peace-and-love-or-you-friggin’-die-bitches type. But I do have a penchant for bright headscarves, loose clothes, and my cat-eye glasses. Contacts aren’t for everyone.   
I stifle a mean laugh as Steve trips over the folding chair he is attempting to set up and a voice comes from behind me, sounding like a stoned cartoon character.   
“Some people just shouldn’t do drugs. It makes them stupid.”   
I snort. “You got that right, bro.” I answer, turning around, half expecting Bugs Bunny to be leaning against the beam, chewing a carrot and greeting me with ‘ehhh..what’s up Doc?”   
Instead it is a stocky man in a t-shirt and shorts and black converse with a green fauxhawk and eyeliner rimmed eyes, looking at me with his hands in his pockets, his eyes boring into my soul.   
“Ummm…” I try to keep the sarcasm down, but it slips out, “Could you blink? I feel slightly violated over here. I’m sure you can take your eyes off of my ass for two seconds.”   
He smiles and blinks a few times, to appease me. He has a big nose, but it suits him. If he has a green fauxhawk, he must be one of Salinas’s friends.   
“Tré Cool.” He says, jerking his chin in a ‘what’s up’ gesture.   
“What an obviously real moniker,” I say sarcastically, once again.   
He shrugs, “What’cha gonna do?”   
I look him up and down, appraising him. He seems harmless enough.   
“Lenora Dali.” I respond, “Like the artist.”   
Tré nods, “That guy was on some serious drugs.”   
I smile and turn to face him completely, crossing my arms over my chest.   
“You a friend of Salinas’s?” I ask. I’m shorter than him by a millimeter, if that.   
“Not really. She’s like a friend of a friend,” he waggles his eyebrows, which I take to mean ‘sexual partner’, “Of a bandmate.”   
I nod easily. “Oh.”   
He’s going for the ‘starving artist’ approach. I haven’t been flirted with much, but that generally seems to be the path people take, because apparently girls like me who wear tie-dye and weird glasses can’t stand accountants or something. So they come up to me and talk about how they’re in ‘the band’ or paint or write poetry and ride their motorcycles into the sunset, even though it’s sooo friggin’ obvious that they are in the middle of getting their biology or business degree or something of the like.   
But this guy, Tré, seems like he probably is in the omnipresent ‘band’.   
“Well, Mr. Cool,” I say, “If you ever need help with your speakers or something, I do sound work."  
He looks at me oddly. “You do sound work?”   
I roll my eyes. “I should hope so. Sound design’s my major.”   
“College girl. Cool.”   
Hot damn, if I had known it was this easy to talk to musicians I wouldn’t have made Salinas hire the band.   
The band.   
Oh god shit hell no.   
“Wait,” I say, “You're with the band? Performing here?”   
He cocks his head, “Problem? I can go put on some deodorant, if you like.”   
But I’m too busy gripping my head and cursing Salinas to a musicless pit to hear him.   
Salinas hired a punk band to play for a crowd of old people.   
Tré looks slightly nervous.   
“I’m just gonna go set up my drums.” He says, walking away quickly, but I don’t notice because I’m too busy blowing steam out of my nose as I watch a bookmobile pull up next to the gazebo. Salinas and a girl with a pink fauxhawk climb out with a blue haired man, a bleach blonde man and a brown haired girl in a big leather jacket that obviously isn’t hers.   
I don’t even bother waiting to walk over before I start yelling at my roommate.   
“Cynthia Rosalynn Jackson!” I yell, striding across the green, “Did you hire a friggin’ punk band to play for a bunch of old people?”   
The blue haired man and the pink haired girl ignore me and start setting up guitars, but the bleach blonde guy and the brown-haired girl stick around to watch. Tre walks past up into the bookmobile, presumably to grab his drum kit.   
“Hey Cat-Eyes.” Salinas says, “Isn’t this bitchin’?”   
“No. No it’s not.” I spit. “I have a van of old people who have never heard of punk in their lives and are expecting, I don’t know, folk music or something, coming in 2 minutes. Not friggin punk.”   
“Oh chill out Lenora, it’ll be fine.” Salinas says, patting me on the head and brushing past me to help Tre with his drum kit.   
I shoot my angry gaze at the bleach blonde guy. There’s only one reason Salinas would do this.   
“So, which one of you is she banging?”  
The brown haired girl goes pink and the bleach blond one looks confused.   
“Nobody. Salinas is just a friend of Jenny’s.”   
I roll my eyes and throw my hands into the air.   
“I don’t care anymore.” I say.   
“That’s right Cat-Eyes,” Salinas says, coming back out of the bookmobile with Tré in tow. “A bit of punk won’t kill the geezers.”   
I’m angry again.   
“But seriously Salinas, they can’t just get up and go home. Their joints are about as good as the Venus de Milo’s arms.”  
Salinas looks confused and I inwardly remind myself not to make art references at her. The brown-haired girl cracks a slight grin though, so I know my reference to the armless statue hasn’t gone over everyone’s heads.   
Salinas gives me her crooked grin. “Don’t sweat it Cat-Eyes, I have 911 on speed dial if any of them have a heart attack.”   
The bleach blonde and brown-haired couple have disappeared to god knows where, the blue and pink haired ones and Tré are setting up and, after patting me on the shoulder, Salinas saunters off after them.   
Compared to now I was a ray of sunshine earlier. The oldies are starting to show up, hobbling in on their walkers or canes or even, gulp, wheelchairs.   
“Hey Lenora?” Steve asks timidly, coming up behind me, “Should we try to lift the people in wheelchairs into the folding chairs?”   
I am not in the mood for stupid questions.   
“What do you think, dumbass?” I snarl and Steve’s eyes widen.   
“Are you okay, Lenora?” He asks.   
I roll my eyes. “  
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, “My roommate just hired a punk band to play for old people.”   
Steve smiles.   
“They’ll love that!” He says.   
You know that sound of a record scratching that they always play when a character reacts to a really friggin’ weird revelation? I heard that noise inside my head as I whipped my head to look at Steven.   
“What?”   
Steve smiles uncertainly.  
“Yeah, at the community center, they’re always complaining about how no one keeps them informed about current stuff. Yesterday a lady looked straight at me and told me that people seem to think she’s still in the ‘50s.”   
I shake my head bewilderedly. After today I’m gonna need a hot bath and a tub of cookies n’ cream ice cream to calm back down.   
I go to help some of the elderly off the bus (they and the community center volunteers are here now, so we have to be respectful now. Those volunteers can get very uppity.)   
There’s one old lady, hunched over in a fuzzy pink cardigan that I help out of the bus. She catches sight of the blue haired one and cackles.   
“Ooh we’ve got some yummy musicians today girls,” She calls and some of the old ladies still on the bus whoop. The little old lady in the pink cardigan whispers into my ear, “The ones they usually get have too much hair. They look like gorillas.”   
Well, maybe this isn’t going to be as disastrous as I thought.   
Once the oldies are all settled (Pink Cardigan and her gaggle of girls up in the front) I head back behind the ‘stage’. Unless there is a crisis, I’m gonna stay back there until I can go home. Faintly, in the distance, I can hear my hot bath with bubbles and my tub of Edy’s Slow Churned ice cream calling my name.   
Lenora, Lenora, come relieve your stress and vow never to trust Salinas again whilst simultaneously gaining weight and washing yourself.   
That sounds good to me, but I still have to stay. I sigh and resign myself to my fate.  
Unfortunately, before I can get to the place of solitude, a community center volunteer accosts me. She grabs my arm tightly. You’d think a lady who spends her days wrangling grandmas would be gentler.   
“Who is this band?” She hissed quietly, so as to not disturb the oldies.   
“I have no idea,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure that it’s...what was that band called? Green Day? Yeah, that’s it.   
“What were you thinking?” The lady whispers, “They can’t listen to that! It has curse words and drugs and,” She looks around furtively, “Sexual references.”  
I suddenly feel a surge of righteousness indignation for the elderly.   
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I wasn’t aware that we were catering to four year olds.”   
The granny-wrangler blinks, “Excuse me?”   
“Excuse you,” I reply. “Old people swear, old people know what drugs are, and old people...y’know. How old are you, twelve? Stop pretending the old are innocents. They’re as much adults as you and I.”   
I shake out of her grip and start to walk away.   
“Well I never!” The granny-wrangler says.   
“I’ll make sure you never put together an event for us again!” She calls after me.   
I look back at her.   
“That’s perfectly fine with me. I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”   
I smile at her.   
“By the way, I didn’t hire the band.”   
I turn back towards my place of peace, the space behind the stage, and continue towards it, ready to be away.   
I don’t see granny-wrangler again.  
I sit down behind the stage in the grass and close my eyes. It’s cool and nice in the shade.   
“Hey, Lenora.” The cartoon voice says.   
I open my eyes to see Tré, the green fauxhawked one standing next to me holding a dish covered in tinfoil.  
“What do you want?” I ask grumpily.  
He nods at the patch of green next to me.   
“May I?”  
I shrug.   
“I’m not the king of the grass.”  
He crosses his legs and awkwardly sits next to me.   
“We’re gonna start in a couple of minutes,” He says, “I’ll even be good for the old people. I put on deodorant and everything.”   
I snort. “I just met the most annoying granny-wrangler of all time. I don’t care about the oldies anymore. Go all out, just for her.”   
He raises an eyebrow.   
“Granny-wrangler, huh?”   
I nod.   
“She thought that the elderly couldn’t handle sex and drugs.”  
“Isn’t that what you think?”  
“That was before I met the one in the pink cardigan. She’ll be in the front row ogling your blue haired friend.”   
Tré sighed.   
“BJ gets all the oglers.”   
I’m surprised. BJ (apparently that’s his name?) is good enough looking, but so is the blonde one. And Tré isn’t exactly ugly. To be perfectly honest, he’s kinda cute. I guess it’s just hard for people to see him from behind the drum set.   
Tré’s looking oddly thoughtful.   
“What did this granny wrangler look like?” He asks.   
I think.   
“Lavender blouse, grey skirt, brown hair.” I say.   
He nods, a small smile spreading across his face.   
“What?” I ask.   
“Nothing,” He replies.   
He’s planning something, but I don’t ask. I want to be surprised.  
He unwraps the plate and reveals the brownies underneath. They look heavenly and chocolaty and good and my stomach clenches with lust. Tré grabs one off the top and bites into it.   
“Time to go show some oldies a good time,” He says, “Help yourself to the brownies. Selinas sent them on as a peace offering.”   
He jogs up the stairs to the stage and I crane my neck to watch as he positions himself behind his drum set.   
The speakers crackle and then the blue one’s voice comes through.   
“Hello senior citizens!” He yells.   
Pink Cardigan’s voice suddenly shrieks out.   
“I know those boys! They live in my apartment building!”   
“Hey boys, it’s Delores!” BJ says.   
“Hi Lola!” Tre yells.   
I smile. How cute.   
Those brownies are tantalizing, so I take one. It’s chocolatey and creamy and everything a brownie should be. I savor each bite. The band plays a few songs, and the elderly seem to like it.  
I take my second one right as I hear Tré’s voice come through the speakers. I’m feeling mellow and calm. It’s nice. He plays a song that features him being all by himself. I could help him fix that, maybe. Even his voice is cute. I giggle.   
“This one is for the lovely volunteer in the lavender blouse,” he says.   
“Oh, and warning,” he adds, “This song is about sex.”   
Delores whoops and I can picture the volunteer’s face burning as he starts.   
I wanna be your dominated love slave,   
I wanna be the one that takes the pain  
You can spank me when I do not behave   
Whack my in the forehead with a chain  
I start giggling uncontrollably. This is fun. I can’t believe I wanted to leave. It’s so nice here. Tré is cute. Maybe I’ll kiss Tré. He’s cute.   
I eat a third one and listen to the music.   
“Lenora!” Salinas is waving her hand in front of my face.   
I look at her blearily. I smile.   
“Hello Salinas. It’s a pretty day.” I tell her.   
She raises an eyebrow. I try to copy her, but my eyebrows are not independent of each other. This is funny. I giggle.   
The music stops and the blue one shouts, “Thank you senior citizens!”   
Tré comes down the stairs. Salinas looks mad. It is a pretty day. She shouldn’t be mad.   
“You idiot!” She shouts, “You gave her the marijuana ones!”   
I forget everything else.


	4. In Which Green Day Plays a Picnic For Old People and Tré Cool Is Irrefutably Stoned. Also, Being “With The Band.”: River Smith

I wake up the next morning, and it isn’t morning. I groan as I look at the clock to see a blinking 1:13. Shit. I’m glad yesterday was Friday, otherwise my boss would be pissed. I sit up to realize I’m still dressed and I have a jacket that most definitely isn’t mine on. I flip over to make sure no one else is in bed with me. I am relieved to see empty sheets and nothing more, but I’m still confused. And then I see the folded-up t- shirt on the nightstand and I remember everything. A small smile plays across my lips as I recall just whose jacket I’m wearing. I get out of my bed and sway a bit before sitting back down. I only had two beers, but my head is still pounding like a bitch. I try again to stand up and this time succeed. Ah, shit. I’m stiff from having slept in my jeans and a leather jacket. Not just anyone’s jacket, though, I think. His. I start. There is a his in my mind. Not just a his, but a his. And we aren’t even dating. Or probably ever will be. I sigh. He was probably just drunk. Or stoned, I think, smiling and remembering Tré. I try to stand up again and this time succeed. I take the shirt off of my nightstand and hold it up, shaking out the folds.  
A piece of paper falls out. I bend over and pick it up. It’s ripped at the edges and folded and half. I open it up and there’s writing on the inside. A phone number. And a note. (510)280- 6785. Call me.- Mike. And then the freaking out begins. What do I do? Do I call him? Do I wait? I decide to get dressed and then think about it. Of course that’s all I can think about. As I get dressed and walk out into my tiny kitchen, my headache mostly subsides. I pick up the phone as I stir a shit-ton of creamer into my coffee, hesitating as I dial the number. It rings one, two, three times and then I hear the click as someone picks up.  
“Hi, it’s Tré Cool, please proceed to call back sometime when it isn’t this early in the morning.” I laugh. A voice- Mike!- shouts from somewhere.  
“It’s almost two in the afternoon, idiot! And we have a show in an hour!”  
“Okay, okay, Mike. Jesus. Who is this again? We’re not interested in whatever you’re selling, unless it’s weed, in which case we can talk.”  
“It’s River. The girl Mike was with last night? I still have his jacket, and I’d like to give it back at some point.”  
“Ah, River, you’re the short one, right?” Only now do I notice how odd his voice is. Like a cartoon character.  
“Um, yes? Could you just put Mike on?” The only response I get is a lot of swishing sounds that I presume to be Tré giving Mike the phone.  
“Hello?” This time it’s Mike, and a wave of relief washes over me.  
“Um, hi, it’s me, River. I kind of still have your jacket. Can I drop it off, or do you wanna pick it up, or...?”  
“If you could drop it off, we have a show in, oh fuck. We have a show in an hour. Sorry, it’s just, hectic afternoon. Tré just got up after about twenty minutes of me trying and I honestly don’t want to disturb Jenny and Billie Joe. I don’t know what I might walk into...”  
“Yeah. Yeah,” I say, not sure if that’s the right thing, “I’ll be there in a few."  
"Sounds good," he says, "Oh, you might need our address." He laughs a little.  
"We're at Edgeview Lane, ah, 1618, number... 9? 9. See you in a bit!" And he hangs up. I grab the jacket from the counter, pick up my keys from the hook, and I'm out the door in a minute flat.  
I find their building easily enough, and their apartment is just on the first floor. I knock, and when I don't get an answer, try the door. It opens, to my surprise. I have no clue what I've just walked into. The apartment is a mess, pizza boxes and bottles everywhere. Mike pops his head out of the bathroom.  
"Ah! River! Hi! Um, ah, this is my house, and you already know the people I live with. Hey! Tré! Wake up! We have a show in fifty minutes!" I turn to my right to see Tré passed out on the couch, snoring slightly. Mike emerges fully from the bathroom and I hand him his jacket.  
"Thanks," he says, awkwardly, "Sorry about the mess." He walks over to Tré's sleeping figure and shakes him violently. The shorter man starts and sits up.  
"Whaa," he trails off and stands up. He goes into the kitchen leaving Mike and I alone again.  
"So, should I go, or?" I ask, unsure of myself.  
"Well, um, if you stay a bit longer, we have a show in a little bit, you can come, if you want." Just then, Jenny comes out of the hallway, her tall fauxhawk disheveled. And she's not wearing a shirt. A bra, and pants, but that's it. Billie Joe stumbles out after her in his boxers and goes straight into the kitchen without acknowledging any of us.  
"Hey, Tré!" She shouts, "Where's that sweet Pansy Division shirt? Oh, hey, kid." She nods at me as if this is a perfectly normal occurrence.  
"It's probably on the floor in the bedroom!" He shouts back at her from the kitchen.   
"No, it's not, I wore it on Tuesday, it's hanging in the bathroom!" This time it's Billie Joe that responds.  
"Thanks!" She disappears again, this time into the same door that Mike had come out of a moment before.  
"Trust me, this is better than it was earlier. They have no shame. And the walls are thin.” I can’t help but laugh at this.  
“And this is what it’s always like around here?” I ask. He looks a little confused but he nods. I love it. I love this place already, not just this place, but this palace of camaraderie and shamelessness. This is what I always wanted from punk rock. A place where I didn’t have to hide. And that’s what this is. A place where no one has to hide, would even be missed if they did.  
NOTE TO SELF  
You don’t have to hide around these people. So don’t.  
“I love it,” I say, and again, those eyes light up, but this time, he wasn’t silent as he nodded.  
“Me too. I- I don’t know what I’d do without these guys. They really saved me. We saved each other, I think, in all honesty. This house- apartment- all the people that live here, we have problems. Some obvious, some not. Just a- warning, I guess.” The light in his eyes has fallen. I could get lost in them. But I don’t. Instead I reply, a more socially acceptable response, even though I don’t know what to say.  
“Yeah. Yeah. I can see that, I think.” I am saved from further attempts at a response by Tré, who comes out of the kitchen, arms full of pizza boxes.  
“Breakfast!” he calls, and throws a box at each of us. I fumble to try to catch mine and Mike steadies me. He sits down on the couch and motions for me to join him. Tré has disappeared into the same door that Jenny had gone into earlier. I sit down next to Mike, who’s opened his box to two slices of veggie pizza, a slice of pepperoni, and a few hot wings.  
“Never know what you’re gonna get on Pizza Morning,” he says, and laughs a little. I open my own box to a few slices of sausage pizza and a little tub of garlic sauce. Billie Joe comes out of the kitchen, a piece of pizza in hand, still not clothed. Mike hasn’t hesitated to start eating so I don’t either.  
“Oh, it’s you, what’s your name, Rachel?” He says right as I take a huge bite of pizza. I chew and swallow.  
“River,” I say, “It’s River. I was just here to drop Mike’s jacket off, but, um, now I think I’m coming to your show?” I say it like a question.  
“Ah, well, hello, River, welcome to the family!” he says cheerfully, and walks off into one of the bedrooms as Jenny and Tré come back out, this time both of them fully clothed and eating yet more pizza. Where does all the pizza come from? Do they just order pizza every night for a week and then eat the remainder on Saturday? Tré sits down on the couch in the middle of Mike and I. This makes me realize how large the gap between us was, and I’m grateful for it to be filled, even if it’s by the short, ridiculous drummer.  
“So you’re coming to the show, huh?” Jenny asks, moving to stand a bit closer to us, “It’s been a long time since Mike’s filled his ‘+1.’” I notice she’s found the shirt she was looking for. I don’t know what to say yet again. An awkward silence for a moment. Tré puts an arm around me and an arm around Mike casually.  
“You know, I love you guys. You guys, I really love you, you know that?” He then gets up, dropping his pizza box (mostly hot wings, I see) and hugs Jenny tight, patting her on the back, “I just love you guys so much!” Then he comes back and sits on Mike’s lap, arms around his neck. Mike sighs.  
“Jenny, did you let him have a joint before the show?” he asks disapprovingly.  
“A little more than a joint, maybe... You know he can’t function without anything, so I took the liberty. He’ll be mellowed out before we get to the show. Probably.” Tré is now whispering something into Mike’s ear, giggling a little.  
“Hey, kid. Help me load up some equipment while they flirt, huh?” Jenny says, laughing a little. I stand up and set my pizza box on the coffee table, hoping it’s the right thing to do. I figure one box won’t add too much to the mess of ashtrays and papers and pens and really just generally accumulated shit. I follow her into the bedroom I had seen her come out of earlier. There’s an unmade bed shoved against the wall, a desk covered in half-empty bottles and half-smoked cigarettes. Musical equipment piled in the corner, drums and guitars and bass cabinets everywhere. Clothes cover the floor, whether it be shirts or pants or underwear.  
“Welcome to the communal closet. And music room. And master suite. Oh, and the office,” she says. I’m not sure whether to laugh or not. She grabs a couple of drums and motions for me to grab a mic stand and a tom.  
“When you’re with the band, you become a pack mule. But you get used to it. And you gotta do something more than get into shows for free,” she smiles, “To the Bookmobile!” I smile at this as well and we exit the apartment. We pass an older woman in the halls. She’s in a pink cardigan and I’m worried for a second she’s gonna go into a rant about ‘that terrible rock music that’s corrupting our generation,' but instead, talks to us and we ride the elevator together.  
“Oh, you’re that band boy’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” she says to Jenny, “He’s a keeper.” Jenny smiles politely.  
“I obviously thought so,” she replies, making the old lady laugh.  
“And you, dear, you’re new, aren’t you?” This time she’s talking to me.  
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. She extends her hand.  
“I’m Delores,” she says as I take it awkwardly, gripping the mic stand in the crook of my arm and shaking gently.  
“I’m River. It’s nice to meet you,” I reply.  
“You know, you’d look just adorable with the tall one!” she says to me. I feel my face go pink and Jenny snickers a little. I’m cut off from having to respond by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator hitting the ground floor. Jenny and I wait for Delores to exit before we leave the box. She holds the door for us as we go outside. We put the drums and mic into the back of the Bookmobile and Delores hobbles her way over to us.  
“I wish they’d let your boys play for us,” she says, “The musicians they give us are always so boring!”  
“Well, next time, ring us up, I’m sure the boys’d be willing to do a show,” Jenny says, and Delores pats her on the shoulder.  
“You’re such a good girl,” she says, “I don’t know why they give you such a bad name. You too, I’m sure.” I don’t know what to say so I just smile awkwardly.  
“Well, I’ve got to get to the community center before they leave! We’re having a lovely picnic today.” She hobbles back away, pulling her cardigan around her bony shoulders.  
“That’s odd. We’re playing a picnic today, too. Must just be a day for picnics.”  
She gets into a small car as we shut the trunk again. We pass Billie Joe in the hallway to get back into the apartment, guitar in hand, presumably bringing it to the Bookmobile.  
“Jennifer You Have No Middle Name Rend!” he shouts, “Why did you give Tré drugs?!”  
“I thought he’d be mellowed out by the time we left!”  
“Well, he’s obviously not! Would you go take care of him, please?” She sighs and I can’t help but giggle. She shoots me a death stare and I shut up immediately. He hits the elevator button and we go into the apartment, bracing ourselves. On the couch is Tré, still in Mike’s lap, but he’s, to put it bluntly, feeling him up a bit, I guess, still giggling wildly.  
“Come on, Mike,” he whines, and Mike looks at me with a ‘help me goddamnit!’ look. At this, both Jenny and I break down laughing. Tré pins Mike down. Jenny looks at me.  
“Should we help him?” she asks, eyes streaming. I nod my head. It takes the combined power of both of us, still laughing, to get Tré off of Mike. Mike stands up before we release Tré, who whines at us.  
“Oh, come on, I was just getting him where I wanted him!” We let go of him and the look on Mike's face is one of panic. But all the stoned drummer does is wink at him.  
"Later," he says, and laughs a little. Jenny turns to Mike.  
“Any other stuff we need to grab?” she asks him. He’s bright pink from his encounter with Tré. He shakes his head.  
“No, just my bass and a few more drums, but Tré and I can get those,” he replies, “You two can go get in the car, and Jenny, don’t just stick her in the back with the crap.” She sighs as if he’s caught her as Tré goes into the other room, presumably to get the rest of his drums.  
“Okay, fine, I’ll sit back there, then, but we cannot let Tré drive. Meaning he has to sit with her.”  
“Why can’t I sit with her?”  
“Cause Billie Joe’s gonna be passenger, you know how much hates being treated like a little kid.” Mike laughs.  
“He can deal with it, or he can man up and drive,” they both laugh at this, and I’m confused.  
“Billie Joe? Driving? You know what happened last time...” They both laugh again and I decide to interject myself into the situation.  
“Um, what happened, exactly?” They look at me as if they’ve just noticed I’m here. Mike answers.  
“Billie may have potentially been, ah, under the influence of some very nasty drugs and drove us off the road so as to avoid running into the giant pink platypus he saw on the road. So he doesn’t drive anymore.” I laugh a little.  
“Anyways,” he continues, “It basically means that I have to drive. And it doesn’t matter, because you’re not sitting by Tré.” He shoots a look at Jenny and she shrugs.  
“Fine. But pissed-off Billie Joe is never a good Billie Joe.”  
“It’s fine, if it’s really going to be that big of a deal, I can sit in the back with Tré.” They both look at me incredulously.  
“You do not want to sit with him,” they both say, and then Mike finishes, “Especially when he’s stoned. You saw him a minute ago...” I protest this.  
“I can handle myself, don’t you worry about me.” He sighs.  
“Are you sure?” he asks, definitely not sure himself.  
“I’m sure,” I say, and he nods. “Fine, then. Me and BJ in the front, Tré and River in the middle, and Jenny in the back with the crap. Let’s go.” Tré comes back out with an almost cartoonish pile of drums and I’m not sure how such a little person can get that many. I hold the door for him as he exits.  
“Such a gentleman,” he says, and I laugh. I decide I like Tré, even if he’s a druggie and about the strangest person I’ve ever met. Jenny goes out next and Mike takes the door from me. I repeat Tré’s sentiment and we both laugh this time.  
The silence in the elevator is comfortable. Tré hums a little to himself and almost drops a drum. The elevator dings and we make it to the Bookmobile without any casualties. I hop in the side and Tré gets in shortly after. I distance myself from him as much as possible as he giggles.  
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he says, and giggles again. He does a lot of giggling, I’ve noticed. Billie Joe’s already in the passenger seat and Mike climbs into the driver’s side and starts the car.  
“Come on, Jenny, we don’t have all day!” I hear the trunk doors slam and Jenny sticks her head between me and Tré’s seats.  
“Then start driving!” she says to him. He pulls out of the driveway and we’re off. I keep glancing at Tré, making sure he’s not going to pull anything. I don’t think he’s going to as he’s staring into space contentedly, eyes glazed over, whether it be from drugs or thinking or both. Billie Joe looks back.  
“You doing okay back there?” he asks me. I reply that I am and he smiles.  
“Good. You know, I was a bit worried Tré’d try to pull something.” I laugh at that.  
“I was too,” I say.  
“He is a good guy, you know, once you get past all the drugs and shit.”  
“I figured,” I say, “Though he’s a bit... overwhelming, I guess.” Mike chuckles.  
“Overwhelming is the word.” We turn onto a country road, “Almost there, guys.” Billie Joe turns back around and faces forward as we pull into the parking lot of a park shelter.  
“Hey guys,” Tré asks slowly, “You know any cute girls? I haven’t met any cute girls in a while... I like cute girls.” He smiles contentedly. Jenny points out the window at a girl in the distance. I can’t make out her features, but I can tell she’s in cargos and a t-shirt and she has very large glasses. She’s got a piece of fabric around her head, and she’s slouching defeatedly.  
“I double dog dare you to go talk to that one. Problem solved.”  
“But she’s not cute,” he says, “Or my type.”  
“Are you kidding me? She’s adorable. Now respect the double dog dare and go talk to the girl.” Tré sighs and exits the vehicle, shutting the door behind himself.  
“Son of a bitch!” Billie says, “We forgot Salinas!”  
“Ah shit,” Jenny says, “Let’s go get her, then.”  
“What about Tré?” Mike asks.  
“We can leave him for five minutes,” I reply, “I mean, if that’s okay.”  
“Yeah, he can handle himself,” Jenny backs me up.  
“Wait, who’s Salinas, again?” This time Mike answers.  
“The girl that set up this show, she’s a good friend of mine and J’s.” I assume the J in question to be Jenny.  
“Oh, okay.” Everyone is silent for a moment as Mike pulls the car out yet again. Jenny hops into the seat next to me and we leave the parking lot. We stay silent for the rest of the drive. We pull into the driveway of a brown stone apartment building, not much different than the one Mike and the rest of them live in. Jenny leaves the car, shutting the door behind and leaving Mike, Billie and I alone. We sit there awkwardly for a moment until Billie speaks, obviously more directed at Mike than me, though.  
“Ten bucks says he bangs her tonight.”  
“I bet a hickey.”  
“What are we talking about?” I ask. They both look back.  
“Tré and that chick.” Billie replies, and I laugh.  
“You’re betting on whether or not Tré’s gonna... do the frick-frack?” They both laugh, and Billie Joe sighs.  
“I had some good money on you two last night, you know. I shouldn’t have. Mike’s a chivalrous bastard, you know that?” Mike goes slightly pink.  
“What he’s saying is we always do this.” I sigh. How mature. Though I suppose that’s how it goes. At that point, Jenny comes back out of that building, unmissable with the neon-pink hair almost six inches high, but she has someone else in tow, now. A girl with soft blue hair and a long coat. She gets in the back as Jenny climbs back in next to me.  
“By the way, I got my money on her slapping him,” she says, “That girl’s way too nice-looking for whatever nasty you have your money on them doing.” Mike nods as he pulls out of yet another parking lot and we get going.  
“Nah, them hippies can be pretty damn dirty, if you know how to ask.” Salinas said, “If you’ve ever met my roommate...” We keep driving as they bicker about what exactly hippies will do and what they think Tré and that poor girl are gonna do. Eventually we pull back onto the same country road and then back into the parking lot. Everyone hops out and I’m not sure what to do. I don’t have to decide as the same “poor” hippie girl Tré was supposed to be seducing stalks up, screaming.  
“Cynthia Rosalynn Jackson!! Did you hire a friggin punk band to play for a crowd of old people?!” Billie and Jenny ignore her as if this is a usual occurrence and start setting stuff up, but Mike and I stay along with Salinas, the subject of the yelling. She puts her hands on her hips.  
“Hey Cat-Eyes, isn’t this bitchin’?” she taunts. The woman is taking none of her bullshit.  
“No, it is not ‘bitchin.’ I have a van of old people who have never heard punk in their lives and they are expecting, I dunno, folk or something. Not friggin punk.” Salinas stays cool.  
“Oh, chill out, Lenora. It’ll be fine.” She pats Lenora, as I now know her name to be, on the head and walks away.  
A BRIEF SCOREBOARD:  
LENORA: 0 SALINAS: 1  
But the hippie stays, presumably to chew us out.  
“So, which one of you is she banging?” I instantly go pink at the idea.  
“Nobody. Salinas is just an old friend of Jenny’s.” She rolls her eyes and I can practically feel her calling bullshit on us. She sighs.  
“I don’t care anymore.” Salinas pokes her head out of the Bookmobile and then emerges with Tré.  
“That’s right, Cat-Eyes,” she says, “A bit of punk won’t kill the geezers.” Lenora looks slightly indignant at them being called ‘geezers,’ but she doesn’t remark. She takes a deep breath and starts off again.  
“But seriously, Salinas, they can’t just get up and leave. Their joints are about as good as the Venus de Milo’s arms!” I smile a little at this and try not to laugh. Mike grabs my arm and gestures that we have to go do something. I catch one last remark as we leave.  
“Don’t sweat it, Cat-Eyes, I have 911 speed dial if any of them have a heart attack.” Mike and I go to help Tré finish setting up his drums. He’s having a bit of trouble putting things together in his state. We help him stand the kick drum back up and he thanks us profusely, telling us he loves us again.  
“I met a pretty girl,” he says, “Her name is Lenora. She’s really nice. She takes care of old ladies. She’s a hippie, though, but that doesn’t matter, does it? It doesn’t matter. She’s really nice. She takes care of old ladies. And speakers. She fixes the speakers real good.” He leaves, then, wandering off to God knows where. I have no clue where hippie-girl Lenora went, but I’m assuming that’s where he’s going.   
“I should probably find Jenny and Billie,” Mike says, “You wanna just find a place in the audience? We’re gonna rock these oldies’ socks off.” There’s a cruel gleam in his eye but also a glint of humor, and I’m glad he’s joking. Just cause they’re punk doesn’t mean they get to kill old ladies. He shrugs his jacket off again and hands it to me.  
“I can’t wear it while playing anyways,” he says, smiling, “It gets warm up there.” I put it on and it’s still warm from being wrapped around his body. It’s very homey, I think. I could live in this jacket.  
“Alright, Mike, wouldn’t want the old ladies to think you’re free game.” He laughs at this and then walks away, leaving me to find a seat. I sit down in a back row where there aren’t many people and wish it were more like the night before, people dancing and drinking and really enjoying it, but one can’t have all that one wishes. Mike’s found Billie, I see, because they’ve taken the stage. They both pick up their instruments, Mike a smooth white bass, Billie his blue guitar covered in mismatched stickers and duct tape. Tré jogs up the stairs and takes his place at the drum kit. Ready to rock and roll.  
“Hello, senior citizens!” Billie Joe yells. A civil amount of clapping, and then an old lady, none other than Delores from earlier, stands up and shrieks. I smile and laugh slightly.  
“I know those boys!! They live in my apartment building!!” she yells, her feeble voice stopping the few bass notes Mike had played. BJ tells Mike and Tré that they know her and it’s Delores.  
“Hey, Lola!” Tré yells in response. Everyone laughs at this. Tré isn’t really such a bad guy, I guess, I mean, old ladies like him. Mike and the rest of the boys break into a fast track, something about Mom and Dad not looking too good these days. I like it just as much as I’ve liked everything else. The old ladies people are loving it, whooping and clapping after each song. And then something I wasn’t expecting happens. Tré’s getting up from his drum kit and taking Billie’s guitar from him. What the hell is he doing? BJ takes Tré’s spot behind the drums. At least it’s planned. Tré sidles up to the microphone and winks. He plays a few chords and begins to sing.  
“I was alone  
I was all by myself  
No one was looking,   
I had an erection  
Oh yeah, did I mention I was all by myself  
All by myself  
All by myself  
All by myself  
I went to your house, but no one was there  
I went in your room  
I was all by myself  
You and me had  
Such wonderful times  
When I'm all by myself,  
All by myself  
All by myself  
All by myself”  
He finishes with a smile and the oldies, especially the ladies and one man in a corner in a pink Hawaiian print shirt, are very enthusiastic. He clears his throat. After that, I am scared for what’s next.  
“This song is about sex,” he says. A roar from the crowd. Who knew old people were into that? I’m honestly scared. He starts playing his guitar like it’s a banjo, and he begins to sing, taking on a parody Southern accent. The contents of the song are unspeakable and hilarious. They feature quite prominently Mike making some... sounds in the background. I try not to let my imagination wander. Once they’re done and I’m thoroughly pink, Billie Joe comes back up to the mic.  
“Thank you, senior citizens!” he shouts, and blows a kiss at the gaggle of old ladies at the front. They love it, of course, and I smile. What sweethearts. Tré disappears to God knows where and I go to help Mike and BJ pick up his slack, wondering where he could have got to.  
***  
We go back to their house for an after gathering of sorts. It’s me, Mike, Billie, Tré, Jenny, Salinas, and a very, very stoned Lenora. She’s freaking hilarious. We all sit in various spots, me on the floor next to Mike, Billie and Jenny and Salinas on the couch, Tré and Lenora moving around frequently, both fairly hyped up from whatever drugs they’ve ended up on tonight. Lenora sits very still for a moment, calling everyone’s attention.  
“Everybody, I have a confession to make,” she says in a drawling tone. Oh God, this is where she admits she hooked up with Tré. “I have an army of fedora-wearing giraffes.” We all laugh at that except for Tré, who nods solemnly. Mike puts an arm around me to steady me. She continues on.  
“They live in my mind, but they don’t like to be stuck in there all the time, so when I get mad, they come out, and they hurt people.” We all laugh again, and I may lean into Mike a little more than is necessary, but no one minds.   
“No, it’s true,” Tré continues, “I saw them! She let me look in her ear and I saw them in there, plotting the destruction of the world. I like her giraffes. They’re my friends.” Then she kisses him, full and sloppy on the lips, and we all stop silent for a moment. They’re really going at it over there, with no regard for who’s watching. Nobody says anything until Salinas finally puts into words what we’re all thinking.  
“Who’s gonna break them up?” she asks, “Definitely not me. I love Lenora, but I can’t do this.” Billie sighs dramatically.  
“I’m allergic to hippies. Sorry guys.” Jenny punches him playfully and he sighs again, for real this time, and stands up. “How the hell do I even do this?” This time I speak up.  
“I dunno, I think you just kinda get in the middle and push.” He winces. I don’t envy him. He takes the few short steps to the two people that at this point look a bit more like one person and kneels down. He somehow extricates Tré from Lenora’s grip and whispers something into his ear, presses something into his hand. Tré hugs him and then grabs Lenora.  
“Come on,” he slurs, “We’re going to your house.” She nods and follows him out the door. There’s a silence and Salinas gets up.  
“Neither of them can drive. I have to go.” So in the end, it’s just me and Mike and Billie and Jenny, and life is good.  
***  
We all end up pretty intoxicated that night, and Mike pulls some crazy stunt with both his bass and Billie’s guitar simultaneously that blows out on of their speakers. At some point Tré stumbles in the door, obviously having walked quite a bit, and flops down on the couch with a black eye. Nobody asks him what happened, but Mike kicks him off the couch so I can stay. Jenny and Billie Joe end up in the master suite again, so we end up on the couch. It’s actually mostly awkward as the couch is short and Mike is tall and I’m little. We’re a tangle of limbs and jeans, and we actually fit together quite well. The couch is just too damn short, but I don’t dwell on it. I dwell instead on the fact that I’m so close to another person. I can feel his breath on my neck and his heart against my back. I’d always underestimated couples, never really been interested in the whole “human contact” thing, but I can see why. I feel safe. Protected. And I never want to leave. But eventually the sun comes up and I have to, quietly wiggling out of his arms and taking his jacket, leaving a note that I did so. I look back just one time like this is a romantic movie and laugh at my idiot self.  
NOTE TO SELF  
Life is good.


	5. In Which I Give All Of My Trust To a Man I Don't Know In a Dark Room: Jenny Rend

"What the fuck is she doing here?" That's all I hear as I roll over on cracked leather. Where am I? I lay there for a second listening to three guys talk.   
"I offered for her to stay the night. It was easier than having to go get the Bookmobile from you guys, after you know, you fuckin ditched me again." I recognize that voice. Beej. That was his name, right? Damn, what a few beers could do.   
"Well, I'm sorry. I had to go drop this chick off, you weren't the only one who met a girl last night Billie." Mike. That one was definitely Mikey. I force myself to sit up, my back almost sticking to the leather, joys of sleeping on a leather couch. I remember falling asleep now, head on his- Beej's- shoulder. Only a little embarrassing. I moan only quietly as I force my eyes open as well, the sun shining through the cheap patchwork blinds.   
"Well, look who's awake." Beej turns to me and smiles, "How was the couch?" I shrug a bit.   
"It was a couch." The three of them chuckle at my response. All of a sudden, the phone rings.  
"I got it." Trè walks over to their wall-mounted phone and picks it up.   
"Want some eggs or something?" Beej says as Tré greets the person on the other end. I draw a blanket (did he put that on me last night?) around me and yawn, realizing how disheveled I probably look. I nod and Beej serves me up a solid plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. "Oh, and Tré made the hash browns, so I would only eat them if you wanna get stoned. Pretty much everything he cooks is, ah, we'll say enhanced." I smile and nod separating the hash browns from the other two items on my plate, hoping the drugs had not passed on yet. Can drugs even pass on through contact? What the hell. Breakfast is breakfast. I pick up a strip of bacon and eat it. I mean, it looks fine, it's fucking bacon, what can be so bad about it? It's surprisingly good, and tastes drug-free so Beej or Mikey must have cooked it.   
It doesn't take long before I've devoured almost the entire plate, except for, you know, the hash browns.   
"Mike! You are needed." Tré calls out as if the apartment were an office building and Mike was on the other side when really he was on the other side of the counter. He walks over and takes the phone. He seems to start flirting with the person on the other end of the line and gives the person their address. "Everyone, I got a girl coming over, so Tré please, please relax with the drugs for the next few hours." He's almost freaking out, he has to really like this person, because he's always been the calm one in any relationship. Tré sighs over-dramatically and stumbles off to one of the apparent two bedrooms.  
Mike then turns to Beej and I. "I recommend, ah, getting out of the house while she is here. Maybe you should take Tré with you, and go play, I don't know, fucking laser tag or something." I laugh quietly, attempting to contain it "Laser tag? You know I have the worst aim in all of humanity." I manage to say, and Beej turned to me and smiled.   
"Well, this should be fun then." Oh god, was he really suggesting we go play laser tag? I am definitely fucked. A dark room with a cute boy? But seriously, laser tag?   
"So, are we going to play laser tag then?" He nods and my guts churn within me. "Just wait a second, I'm going to grab Tré quick, then we're outta here." He almost leaped out of his seat with excitement and nearly ran down the hall bursting into the room Tré had stomped off to, allowing the sound of violent videotaped kissing and other... things to escape from behind the wooden door. Beej soon left, closing the door behind him. "You know, I think he'll be quiet..." Mike sighs. He wasn't going to actually get the apartment to himself like he wanted.  
Beej seems almost too excited as he grabs his coat and I grabbed my jacket and we hurry out of the door.. Is he the kind of guy that just wants to get a girl alone in a dark room? I sigh and wave away the thought. He looks at me for a second, maybe wondering if I'm okay? We make eye contact and both turn pink and look away. Not paying attention, we run into and old lady and she jumps and squeaks a little in surprise. I can't blame her, I would jump too if a really attractive guy bumped into me out of nowhere. She turns around, seeming angry at first but, as soon as she looked at Beej her frown turned to a gentle smile.   
"Hello, darlings. How are you today?" She seems like a sweet old lady. Her friendly glance shifts from Beej to me, making it clear she's fairly excited to meet me. Maybe he doesn't bring girls home frequently. Maybe he usually brings boys home. I dunno. I wouldn't doubt it.  
"Hello. I’m Delores, and you are?" My mind goes nearly blank at the question.   
"Jenny, I'm Jenny." I smile as well, and she holds out her hand. I takes it and she squeezes, surprisingly strong for a woman her age.   
"Nice to meet you, Jenny." She smiles, taking her hand back.   
"Its nice to meet you as well, Delores."   
Billie soon chimes in. "It's nice to see you again Delores, but we have to go do something right now. We'll see you later." He says with a sweet and friendly smile. What a charmer, I think only half-sarcastically. A smile that's probably exclusive to her. He grabs my arm, yanking me down the hallway and into an aging elevator and pressing the starred button as we begin to drop quickly to the main floor from the 3rd. His hand drops from my arm as the door forces itself open, and we walk out into the parking lot. He pulls open the side door of the Bookmobile for me, and I climb in, him on the driver side.   
"You realize I'm going to kick your ass, right?" I had seen this act before. He was being cocky and competitive, probably trying to hype himself and me up for the game. I go with it and give him a subtle smile. "Maybe, you haven't seen me shoot yet." I send him a quick wink, making him smile. "I'll give you that one."   
The laser tag place is only five minutes from their apartment. The rest of the ride is fairly quiet. He pulls up outside the building. Alex's Bowling & Laser Tag. We walk in to see a person behind a desk. The inside is coated with rentable bowling shoes.   
Beej walks up to the guy and rents out the laser tag area for a few hours. He motions for me to follow him into a small, almost black room. We suit up with heavy black vests and each grab a laser gun. We walk into a huge, even darker room with only a few blue lights to show where hiding spots and a few short towers are hidden.   
I turn to say something and he's already disappeared; I take off into the darkness and into one of the short towers, and being my coordinated self, trip over the first stair.   
"Shit!" As soon as the word escapes my lips a laser is shot at me, knocking me out of the game. "Fuck!" I say and jog up the rest of the stairs. I stand at the top of the tower and look for him. Soon, I spot a mop of blue hair weaving about and I aim, hitting him in the heart area.   
"God fucking damnit!" is all I hear as he's knocked out as well.  
After the 25 seconds of being "dead" were over we both get pretty serious and act like we're in the army, crawling and being as ninja-like as our uncoordinated bodies would allow. He shoots me again. Hell, was he right when he said he could shoot. At least once every few minutes am I either out or nearly out.  
I stand over the edge of the tower looking for him, any sign at all. Nothing. It's dead quiet, the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat, and even that is fairly quiet. A laser from very close behind hits me in the back. Down and out, again. I spin around, and he's standing at the top of the stairs, the blue lights giving off his black silhouette as he steps closer. I step away.   
"Oh come on Jenny, its just a game." He slides his gun back into its leather pocket on the vest, his eyes never leaving me. This is the point where I should run. I met him at a punk show. I mean, he hasn't tried to deflower me yet, but dark room, shady place... I can't help but be a little scared. For a fleeting moment the thought that maybe I'd like to runs through my head.  
"Well, if it was just a game, why didn’t you let me kill you a few times?" I fold my arms across my chest, giving him my hardcore puppy dog eyes. They never fail. He only shrugs, stepping closer, his lips brushing against the skin of my cheek. Fairly innocent. Maybe I can trust this boy- man. I can feel my cheeks flooding with blood. I look him in the eye only to see him move his lips to kiss me. I don't refuse, I had only been kissed by someone I actually wanted to maybe once, and even that was back in ninth grade. I have no idea what he wants me to do, and realized I don't care, so I do what I want and kiss him back, hard, maybe harder than necessary. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment. This is what this is supposed to feel like. I feel him smile against my lips as he takes my arms, putting them around his neck, then gently placing his on my lower back. Goose bumps coat my skin as his hands make contact with me. I have never been touched like this before. One layer of fabric keeping his hands off my skin. We stand there in the dark kissing like idiots. I don't want it to end, not now, not ever, not for anything.


	6. In Which I Experience One Hell of a Hangover: Lenora Dali

I wake up in my apartment sometime around eight o’clock that evening, my head pounding. All I remember since eating those brownies was an intense feeling of contentment and a decision to throw caution into the winds. That’s what I remember, thinking I’m going to throw caution into the winds.  
Now I have the feeling I made a couple bad decisions.  
Of course, my first bad decision was eating those brownies. I know Salinas would never drug me, but I shouldn’t have trusted her and that guy, Tré, and their communication skills. I knew that Salinas was a fan of marijuana brownies, but dang, I would have thought she would have made them easier to recognize.  
I shift around and survey myself. No bruises or broken bones, so I didn’t jump off a building or some shit like that. Other than my pounding head, I seem okay, except for my sore mouth, but I assume that’s a side effect of pot, along with the headache.  
I move to get out of bed and discover that Salinas had removed my cargo pants and left me in underwear and a tank top. I roll my eyes, put on my glasses, get out of bed and ( my room is tiny) pull on my pants.  
I go next door to the bathroom, turn the tap, take off my glasses and splash water on my face, then look at myself in the mirror, and surprise myself by staying calm. I put on my glasses to see it better.  
“That’s awkward,” I say aloud.  
I have a giant hickey on my neck.  
I sigh.  
“Salinas!” I yell.  
“Yeah?”  
“Why is there a gigantic hickey on my neck?” I yell.  
“You made out with Tré when you were stoned.”  
“Oh. Okay.”  
I am surprised at how calm I am. I move to my drawer and grab some concealer, dabbing it over the bruise.  
Then I freeze.  
“Wait...what did I do?” I yell.  
Salinas opens the door and smiles.  
“Hey, you’re awake!” She says perkily, but the dark storm is upon me.  
“What the hell, Salinas?” I say, putting the concealer down. The hickey is well covered, thank god, because I do not want questions.  
Salinas raises her hands in alarm.  
“Look man, I did not want you to get the marijuana, Tré messed up.”  
I roll my eyes and sigh.  
“Did we, you know, do anything else?”  
Salinas shakes her head.  
“Nah, you weren’t that out of it. He tried but I’m pretty sure you gave him a black eye.”  
I smile a bit, almost wishing I could remember it. I shrug at Salinas.  
“Nothing you can do about it now.”  
I take out my hair brush and start to unbraid my hair, shaking it out.  
Salinas smiles goofily, “Although Cat Eyes, if I can be perfectly honest, you should get stoned more often, it was hilarious.”  
I throw my hairbrush at her face and she shields herself with the door just in time.  
“Jesus, I’ll leave you alone!” She says, still laughing.  
“By the way, why the heck do you have an army of fedora wearing giraffes?” She says, peeking her head back in.  
I glare at her.  
“I got you some ice cream and Law and Order’s on in five,” She says.  
My face softens as she leaves. Salinas knows me way too well.  
I pick up the hairbrush and finish taking out my hair. It’s ridiculously long, down to almost my backside and insanely tangled, especially at the ends. I dyed it dark auburn, almost black at the roots and it gets progressively lighter as it goes down, ending a light strawberry blond at the ends. My parents hate it (I spent my childhood with short, blonde hair), which is mostly why I like it. I brush it out and keep it loose and change into sweatpants and a clean tank top. I take a glance at the tattoo of a tree on my right shoulder and the three hawk silhouettes on my left that I tried to keep hidden for the oldies (I shouldn’t have bothered) and take out my nose stud and earrings.  
Salinas and I watch Law and Order and I eat from my bucket of ice cream. I go to bed around 10, since I’m planning on going to the shop early to work on Mary Lou before I have to check in. Salinas promises to be quiet, but I put in my earplugs anyways. It’s usually after I go to bed when Salinas pulls out the metal music. I sleep okay, except I have weird dreams about giraffes in fedoras.  
XXX  
I get up before Salinas, as is per usual, and pull on a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top and my converse high tops, which used to be white but I painted sky blue with sunflowers.I love the crap out of them. I put in my nose stud and my big earrings and pull my hair into a ponytail. I don’t feel like putting on concealer, so I put on a beaded scarf over the hickey.  
I make myself a couple of pop tarts for breakfast and water Salinas’s purple orchid, which she always forgets to water.  
My red bike is by the door and I lift it over my shoulder to take it down the five stories to the street. I don’t wear a helmet. I know I know, I’m an organ donor, but the garage isn’t far.  
Mary Lou is a 1974 Cadillac that I found for sale for $460 on the side of the road. Sure she was more useful as a trashcan than a car, but I could just picture her, all fixed up and painted blue and I fell in love. If I can get her fixed up by the time I graduate, I’ll have a free ride to New York. I’ll be able to go on the great American road trip before I buckle down to find work in Manhattan.  
The garage is what you would picture a garage to be, greasy and dirty, but open and strangely fascinating, with the cars up on lifts and the tools on the walls. Kev is already here and he waves good-naturedly at me as I coast in and park my bike in the back, next to Mary Lou’s stall.  
I work here weekdays when I can, between lectures and homework and the occasional sound job. Throw in my hours with Mary Lou, and I spend more time in the garage than anywhere else. Kev’s like family.  
I like Kev, because he’s a long haired hippie like me. He’s in his late forties, with shoulder length hair and a scruffy beard. He’s lived in Berkeley his whole life, working in the garage, which he owns and operates, for most of it. He doesn’t really need the help, but he says it feels nice to give me and Cosmo, a fellow college student of mine, an engineering major, a good chance.  
“Hey Kev,” I say.  
“Mary Lou’s lookin’ good,” He says.  
That’s when I know something’s wrong, because Kev’s nice, but he’s honest. Mary Lou’s still a rustbucket and he knows it.  
He sighs.  
“I asked Rita to marry me,” He said, blushing.  
I’m not much of squealer, but this time I squealed like a little girl. I threw my arms around him. Rita Carey is like a mother to me. Kev doesn’t return the hug and I let go.  
“Kev, this is good news,” I say, “What the hell is wrong?”  
He looks at the ground.  
“You know we’re both not rich and….and we’re cut off from our parents...” He says.  
I shake my head.  
“I love you, Kev, but you know I can’t afford to help you out.”  
He bites his lip. I’ve never seen someone look so guilty.  
“Nora...this guy came in and offered to pay twice as much as you do for your spot and…”  
No. I can’t lose Mary Lou’s spot. She’s not street-safe, I can’t lose that spot.  
“Kev…” I don’t want to cry. It’s a stupid car. But she’s not a stupid car, “You know I can’t afford to top that. Just take some off of my salary. Cosmo’ll probably let you do the same for him.”  
Kev looks me in the eye.  
“Rita and I love you to death Nora, but we need this money. I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon after your classes to either top the offer or find Mary Lou a new spot. I’ll help move her.”  
I don’t let the tears sting my eyes. It a stupid car. Not even a car. A rustbucket.  
I nod.  
“Fair enough,” I say quietly.  
Kev nods awkwardly.  
“Here, I’ll give you a startup,” He tells me, pulling some cash out of his pocket.  
“Your salary, and I’ll give you the day off to gather up some more or find a new spot.”  
I take the money and shove it in my pocket.  
“Congratulations to you and Rita,” I say, get back on my bike, and head out to save my car.  
XXX  
Salinas spares a twenty and says I owe her a friggin’ amazing birthday present, since she’s a photography major and is even more broke than I am. But, she doesn’t have a car to fix. Just her camera, which she bought new.  
“This isn’t gonna be enough, is it?” She says, passing me the bill.  
I shake my head, but I try to look hopeful.  
“Every little bit counts,” I say, which is what everyone says when they know they are utterly and totally monetarily screwed.  
“Are you gonna call your parents?” Salinas asks.  
I scoff.  
“Since when did my parents give me money?” I asked.  
She shrugs.  
“I’ll ask Benny, but I’m pretty sure he’s broke as all hell.”  
Benny is the co-author and publisher of These Are Drawings, the zine he makes with Salinas. It makes no money, but he swears it’s gonna be big one day.  
Salinas cuts me a sympathetic look, loops her camera around her neck and, much like I did earlier this morning, grabs her bike (which is blue), swings it over her shoulder and tramps down the stairs, kicking the door closed.  
I sigh and head to the kitchen, making myself some mint tea and pulling out a notebook, starting to make a list of people I can haggle for money. I make a deal with myself. If I haven’t come up with enough money by 7 tomorrow morning, I’ll start looking for a new place. I hope to some mystical entity that I’ll get enough money up. I can pay my normal space rent fine, but somewhere I need to rustle up another 200 dollars. Hell, 300 dollars if I want to beat out the douchenozzle trying to steal my spot. I try not to think of next month, hoping that the thing will have passed by then and I can go back to my normal rent.  
The phone rings and I groan and pick it up, expecting my mother.  
Tré’s voice sounds much more cartoon-y over the phone.  
“Lenora? I swear this is not a stoned phone call, so don’t hang up.”  
I sigh and my cheeks inadvertently flush with embarrassment, but I try to be friendly. If Salinas is to believed, he was as stoned as I was, and I technically started it.  
“Hi Tré,” I say, “I thought you were supposed to wait three days?”  
I can hear his sheepish grin through the phone.  
“Actually, this is about business. The guys didn’t think you’d come if they called. Mike blew out our speakers last night...and you said you do speakers…”  
I stop him.  
“Can you afford $300 and…” my stomach growls, “...and a pizza?” I ask, hoping against hope.  
“Hey boys, can we afford 300 bucks and a pizza? Yes.”  
I sigh and close my eyes. I know his band saw pretty much the entirety of my act last night, but Mary Lou was worth a bit of public humiliation.  
“I’ll be right over.”


	7. In Which I Love My Car Way Too Friggin Much: Lenora Dali

Their apartment building is quite a bit like ours, and I compare the address in the front to the one on the scrap of paper I scribbled on when Tré told me the address.   
I pull my toolbox (yes, I have a toolbox, yes I’m straight, in case you haven’t noticed) off the back of my bike and hoist the frame over my shoulder and jog up to the building and up to the third floor. I compare the paper to the doors again until I find number 13. I set my bike down and lean it against the wall. I knock loudly, since I don’t know what state everyone is in.   
The door is opened by the bleach blonde one (was his name Mike or Nick? God, I’m never getting stoned again).   
“Hey…” I say, knowing he saw my stoned act last afternoon, “I’m here for your speakers.”  
He nods slowly, still staring at me slightly. I’ve always been told I had good legs, but he seemed pretty enamored with that cutie pie he was with last afternoon, and I also got the feeling….   
“I was that bad yesterday?” I ask sheepishly.   
He cocks his head.   
“You did try to eat Tré’s face.”  
I wince at the mental image.  
“Um….can I come in? I’ll just work on the speakers, I swear.”   
He jumps slightly and shakes his head.  
“Yeah, yeah, sorry…” He stands aside and I walk in. He (Mike? Nick?) grabs my bike and sets it next to the door.  
The apartment is not that horrible. I don’t know what I was expecting, like some kind of opium den, but compared to some of the apartments I’ve seen on Law and Order, it’s glorious. Some pizza boxes, some underwear, some cigarette butts, some beer bottles, nothing I’ve never seen before.   
“It might not look like much, but trust me, Tré has been cleaning like a maniac since you said you’d be over. He wouldn’t even take a joint.”   
That is frickin’ adorable, but I don’t say so. I’m here for my car, not for some guy I happened to make out with whilst stoned.   
The speaker is sitting next to the kitchen, on the floor and I make my way over to it.   
I smack straight into Tré, who’s coming out of the kitchen.   
“Excuse me,” I mutter, trying not to let on that I’m kinda/sorta/maybe glad to see him.  
He grabs my arm gently. His eyes are very relaxed, but I know he’s not stoned.  
He smiles a bit.   
“Hey, Lenora,” He says.   
He goes in for a kiss, not like making out kind, but the pecking kind, but my free hand slaps him anyway. That’s when I notice that Salinas was right, I did give him a bit of a black eye, and I feel kinda bad.   
Surprisingly, Tré doesn’t seem that hurt that I slapped him.   
“How much do you remember?” He asks.  
Of course now I start to remember that Tré is a friggin’ fantastic kisser.  
I shake my head.  
“Not much,” I say. “You?”   
He shrugs.   
“I actually remember a lot. I could tell you…”   
I hold up my hand.  
“I don’t want to know,” I tell him.   
He nods, looking like he’s about to laugh.   
“That might be a good idea.”   
I point to his eye.   
“Sorry about the shiner. Salinas told me I punched you?” That comes out like a question, although I can’t think of anyone else who would have hit him.   
“Wait, she punched you?” Mike/Nick says from across the room, where he’s tuning his bass, “I didn’t know you were into kink, Tré. Were you her dominated love slave?”  
I shoot Mike/Nick a look, although the song has started playing in the back of my brain. Surprisingly, Tré, does the same.  
“I got too close, she hit me, that’s it.” I nod concisely, like I remember.  
Mike/Nick looks confused.   
“So you two didn’t…”   
“No!” We both say, then look at each other, surprised at our unison.  
BJ (I think his full name’s Billie Joe?) comes out of the other room and laughs.   
“You two have a telepathic connection already,” He says.   
“Did you hear that you lost the bet?” Mike/Nick asks and I flush. Tré looks at the ground sheepishly.   
“Damn! But that doesn’t mean you won,” Billie Joe says.   
He turns politely to me.   
“Do you happen to have a hickey?” He asks.   
I’m blushing like the setting sun and I’m still uncomfortably close to Tré. I take a step away.   
“No.” I say, knowing I suck at lying.   
Mike/Nick stands up and approaches me.   
“Yeah?” He grabs my scarf and pulls.   
I blush even deeper and I see a slightly pink tinge in Tré’s milky skin.  
Mike/Nick laughs shortly and points at Billie Joe.   
“You owe me 10 bucks,” he laughs.   
Billie Joe scowls.   
“Can you wait ‘til Jenny gets home from work? I don’t have any cash.”   
Mike (I’m starting to remember better, and I think that’s his name) shrugs.   
“I just like knowing I’m right. But you better not screw me over.”   
He tosses my scarf back at me and, glowing beet red, I’m sure, I wind it back around my neck. He returns to his bass.   
I look at Tré, who looks more uncomfortable than I’d have thought. We make eye contact and then awkwardly look away. This is ridiculous. We didn’t even come close to a one night stand, and here we are blushing like little kids (actually more like the parents) during ‘the talk’.   
I turn away from Tré to go work on the speaker.   
“Tattoos, huh?” He says amusedly. His fingertips brush my shoulder blades lightly, almost like he didn’t mean to touch me. I tense a bit and the contact is gone. I glance back at him and his hands have been stuffed in his pockets, but he looks more at ease, a shy, silly grin spreading across his face.   
“Are they a problem?” I ask sarcastically, recalling the tattoos on Billie Joe and Mike’s arms.   
“No, I just didn’t think you were a tattoo girl,” he says.   
I smile slightly at him, which means the right corner of my mouth twitched up a bit.   
“Despite your extensive knowledge of my face, you don’t actually know me, Mr. Cool.”   
He shrugs to acknowledge my point.   
“I just figured girls who care for old ladies…”   
I roll my eyes.   
“Salinas coerced me into that, idiot. I’m a college student, remember. I work at a mechanic shop.”   
He raises his eyebrows.   
“Really?”   
I sit cross legged (criss-cross applesauce!) by the speaker, setting down my toolbox. I look back up at him.   
“Yeah.”  
Billie Joe wolf whistles at us. We both flip him off. He cackles.   
“You two have the telepathic thing down,” He laughs, leaving the room. Mike continues to smirk silently at us over his bass from the couch.   
I take off the back of the speaker. I won’t go into details, but Mike really managed to screw up the speaker. I sigh. This one’s gonna be a toughie. I don’t know whether to be happy or frustrated. I love a challenge so I should be happy. Then again, I have to spend more time with Tré. Then again, I get to spend more time with Tré.   
“How bad is it?” Tré asks.   
I look over at Mike and give him a thumbs up.   
“Congrats Mikey. You’ve managed to completely fuck up your speakers.”  
Tré laughs and Mike shrugs.   
“Can you fix it?” He asks.   
I tilt my head.   
“Maybe. I’ll try.”  
Tré bends down to take a look and swears loudly.   
“If BJ sees this you’re never going near the speakers again, Mikey.”  
Mike stands up.   
“It can’t be that bad, can it?”   
He leans over and looks inside. His eyes go huge.   
“Shit,” he says, “Is that bad?”   
I nod.   
“What’s going on, guys?” Billie Joe says, coming in from the next room.   
Tré, Mike and my eyes snap from the utterly screwed up interior of the speaker to the blue haired man grinning at us.   
“Nothing,” we say.   
XXX  
I work on the speaker for three hours straight, stopping only to inhale a few slices of pizza. Mike, fearful for the future of his access to speakers, took Billie Joe out, I don’t know where, leaving just Tré and me in the apartment.   
I know, I know, awkward. But not. He mostly stays out of my way, keeping himself (deliberately?) busy, to give me some space.   
I ended up going back to my apartment for a few hours, to cool off my brain and grab some specialized equipment.   
Salinas is back when I get to the apartment, doing her nails and reading a magazine at the kitchen counter.  
“Hey,” She says, “Where were you?”   
I roll my eyes.   
“That guy, Mike, blew out a speaker. Tré hired me to fix it.”   
“Ooooooo,” Salinas turns around, her eyes glowing.  
I know what she’s thinking. I hold my head.   
“Shut up,” I say. I have a headache. I go to the kitchen, pop a few aspirin and go lie on the couch for a nap.   
XXX  
I wake up around 7 o’clock, wondering how the hell I managed to sleep for so long. I roll off the couch, thoroughly disheveled. I put my hair back in a ponytail, make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner, and gather my tools to finish up with Tré’s speaker.   
“I’ll be at Tré’s apartment if you need me,” I call out to Salinas. She rolls her eyes.   
“Have fun with Tré!” She shouts as I leave. I awkwardly turn with my bike over my shoulder to flip her off.   
XXX  
“I thought you weren’t going to come back,” Tré says as he opens the door and takes my bike.  
“Thanks. Do you really think I’d give up on a challenge like your monstrosity?”   
He laughs.  
“Mikey and Billie Joe are still out; I think Mikey thinks he’s never going to go near a speaker again.”   
I come in.   
“He’s right. As protector of speakers, I decree he’s never allowed near a speaker again.”   
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans against the door.   
“You’re that protective of speakers?” He asks.  
I roll my eyes.   
“I’m a sound major. I write songs praising speakers on high.”   
He laughs again.   
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re funny?”  
“Nah. Too busy telling me not to be a smart ass.”  
I take my spot next to the speaker and pull out my special tool, the one I think’ll be able to fix the whole damn thing. I won’t try to explain it.   
“Oh, you brought a thingymajig.” Tré says, nodding sagely.  
I laugh.   
“You, sir, have very poor technical expertise. This is obviously a doohickey.”  
He laughs as the phone starts to ring. He picks up.   
“House of Mouse!” He says. He listens for a bit, then holds the phone out to me.  
“It’s Salinas.”  
I stand up and grab the phone.   
“What’s up Salinas?” I ask.  
“Kev called,” She says without prelude.  
My stomach drops. Oh god, oh god oh god.   
Salinas, bless her face, doesn’t hold me in suspense.  
“The stupid douchebag, the one who wants your spot...he raised his offer by 500 dollars.”   
My mouth drops open.   
“That bitch,” I say, regardless of the buyer’s gender.   
I’ll never be able to top that. Even with this job, I can’t get an extra 500 dollars by tomorrow. I’m so screwed General Custer would feel sorry for me.   
“Lenora? Are you alright?” Salinas sounds worried.   
My mouth has gone dry, but I answer.   
“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.   
“Lenora, wait-” She’s cut off by me hanging up. My hand trembles. It’s a car...it’s a stupid car.   
“You okay Nora?” Tré asks.   
I lean against the kitchen counter. It’s a stupid car. I’ll find another spot. Maybe I’ll find a better spot. And even if I don’t, Mary Lou is just my beautiful-baby-car.  
“You don’t look good,” He says, “Do you need some fresh air? Some weed?”   
I whack him on the chest.   
“Don’t call me Nora,” I say.   
He squints at me, suddenly serious.   
“There’s a park across the street,” He says, “Let’s go; get you some air, and you can tell me what’s going on.”   
I nod without realizing it and he gently grabs the crook of my arm and steers me out of the apartment, past the busted speaker and my toolbox and the couch and my bike and down the stairs and out into the warm evening. He pulls me across the crosswalk, into the pretty green park past a slide and monkey bars and sits me down on an old swingset, plopping down next to me.   
She’s a car. A rustbucket. A lemon I could never fix in the first place.   
“What’s going on?” Tré asks.   
I glance at him. He’s struggling to keep his face straight.   
“Are you my therapist now?” I ask.   
He nods as seriously as he can.   
“Sure.”   
“It’s stupid.”   
“You’re stupid.”   
“That’s nice.”   
“Kidding!”  
“Shut up.”   
We’re silent for a few seconds. I take a deep breath. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, other than that I’m about to start crying about a broken down Cadillac I named Mary Lou.  
I look away over to a butterfly garden devoid of butterflies.   
“It’s my car. Well, I call her a car. She’s more like a trashcan on wheels.”  
“Ah, the proverbial rustbucket. Let me guess. She’s alive.”   
I scowl at him. He smiles back.   
“What’s her name?” He asks. I wonder how he guessed.  
I blush and bite me lip. Finally I sigh and admit it.   
“Mary Lou.”   
“Cute. What’s wrong with her?”   
We lock eyes. He looks so sincere, like he actually cares about me car, which is odd. Even Kev and Cosmo and Salinas are confused as to why I care so much about this car. Even I don’t know why I care about this car.   
And it strikes me that maybe Tré cares about it because I care about it.   
So I tell him, about finding Mary Lou, starting work on her at Kev’s garage, Kev and Rita getting married, the douchebag who’s trying to steal my spot with $700, $500 dollars more than I can afford, with what the guys are giving me for their speaker, and how, if I can’t find a spot, there’s nowhere for Mary Lou to go and I’ll have to sell her, or take her to the dump.   
I’m starting to tear up and I look away, blinking back the tears, reminding myself that it’s nothing.  
“Like I said, it’s stupid,” I say.   
“No it’s not.”   
I look back at him and he looks pissed. He meets eyes with me.   
“This guy can obviously afford somewhere else, somewhere nicer. Now why the hell does he want your spot?”   
I shrug.   
“I don’t know. I mean, Kev would never even consider it if he and Rita weren’t getting married.”   
Tré nods slowly. I awkwardly rock back and forth on the swing, digging my toes into the grass.   
“I can give you another hundred, but five? I’m sorry Lenora….”   
My eyes widen. No. I wave my hands.   
“I wasn’t asking for money…”   
“But I’m giving it to you anyways. Now shut up, I’m trying to think.”   
I smile.   
“The great Tré Cool, using his brain? The boys’ll be shocked.”   
But he’s too deep in thought to answer.  
Finally he looks up. He hands me my payment plus the extra hundred.   
“Give your friend this and tell him you’ve got a band to play for the reception free of charge.”   
My mouth drops open.   
“Tré...I can’t…”   
“Oh no, your gonna earn that money. By fixing that goddamn speaker.”   
He stands and pulls me up with him. I glance from the money back to him and I smile tentatively.  
“Thanks….Tré.”   
I do end up fixing the speaker and sleep on the couch that night. I make eggs that morning for the boys and, when Mikey calls that girl River and leaves, I’m right behind him with my bike over my shoulder, to go to my classes and then tell Kev the news, but not before I tell Tré to be nice to Riv.   
I get the feeling she’s gonna be around for a while.


	8. In Which I Surprise Even Myself: River Smith

The next day is hell, and it makes me realize the full extent of my friendlessness. I have acquaintances, sure, even people I could probably go out for a drink with, but they’re distant. I’ve always been more of a loner, preferring few or no close friends to a bunch of half-assed ones. I suppose I have my family, but we never really talked. It’s not like I have the typical, ‘my parents beat me and ignored me and now I have social anxiety’ thing. If anything, I was the one who ignored them. I come home for Thanksgiving, they respect my need to celebrate Giftmas instead of Christmas and not come home for Easter and we’re on good terms. I spend the day reading. I don’t do it as much as I should, and it’s a much-welcomed break. But there’s something I miss. A certain... excitement. Maybe it came from them, living with them for one night, like I was swept away by the faeries into their magic circle. That’s what it was, too, if the faeries were punk rock and their magic came in the form of drugs and a certain form of the instant camaraderie that arises from sharing music and a cigarette, which are mostly the same, anyways. I go to sleep that night thinking of this, the comparison of punk to magic. It seems realistic, but doesn’t end in very realistic dreams.  
I have no clue what I’m going to do the next day, a Monday. I’ve ended up with switched hours, so I don’t work. I want desperately to see him, not even just him, all of them, but I don’t call. You’re just nervous, I tell myself, Grow a pair and call the boy. But for some reason I don’t. I just sit there, arguing with myself, until the phone rings. It startles me at first, and I jump a little, then pick it up. The number looks familiar, but not familiar familiar.  
“Hello?” I say it like a question, like I’m scared, and I don’t know why. I find myself questioning everything I do as of late. It’s not good for self-esteem, I’ll tell you that.  
“Hey, River,” he says, and I know right away that it’s Mike. I mean, his voice is a bit distorted because we’re talking on the phone, but it’s him.   
“Hi,” I reply, like the literate member of the human race that I am.  
“Hi,” he says, like an equally literate member of the human race.  
“Hi,” I say, and the string of literacy continues. Eventually he starts doing weird voices, Donald Duck, lifetime smoker, opera style, and I can’t help but laugh uncontrollably.  
“That’s adorable,” I say, not actually realizing I had said it out loud until the silence on the other line.  
“I mean, the voices are adorable, not you, well you are, but well, that’s not what I meant,” Son. Of. A. Fuck. I botched the whole damn thing. This time he’s the one who laughs and I basically want to crawl into a hole and die.  
“Um...” he says.  
“Um...” I reply, and then silence again. We’re very good at communication.  
“I was just wondering if, you know, you wanted to go to lunch, like, today, or something.” He sounds a bit flustered and I’m elated. I pause for composure and reply.  
“Ah, sure. Do you want me to come over there, or...?” I trail off.  
“I’ll come and get you whenever you’re ready,” he says. I look at the clock. It’s only around eleven, but I can’t wait to see him.  
“I can be ready in half an hour, maybe less,” I say, hoping I don’t come off as too excited. Then he laughs a little nervously. Everything is over, I think.   
“What?” I ask.  
“Nothing,” he says, “Nothing. It’s just, I was worried you wouldn’t say yes, after yesterday. We were all pretty hammered.”  
“The key word there is all” I say, and I can practically hear him nodding. I haven’t known him long but I’ve known him long enough to know he’s the ‘quiet one.’ I always was too, which is probably why we have such great conversation. He laughs.  
“I’ll see you in a minute,” he says, still laughing a bit. This means the conversation is over, I think.  
“See you in a minute,” I concur. The getting ready doesn’t take long, I just have to shower and get dressed. I can’t wear the Green Day shirt again. It smells like a combination of alcohol, weed, and him, and I don’t think I can stomach that right now. I end up in a grey shirt for the Weakerthans and black skinny jeans. I leave his jacket on my desk chair, not wanting to give it back quite yet. I then sit and fidget for the next ten minutes, just a little bit nervous. A knock at the door. I answer it and he’s there. That’s not what surprises me, though. He holds a dozen, maybe more completely mismatching flowers. Not one of them goes with the other, and I love it.  
"I got you these," he says, and we both blush profusely. It is the most adorable thing I've ever seen, him standing there in his cargos and his T-shirt holding a bunch of flowers that I know he hand-picked for me. Before I know what I'm doing I hug him, tight, nearly crushing the flowers. He hugs back, of course, and I can hear his heart beat again, a steady, soothing sound. It speeds up a little as we hug, but that's surprise, I guess. Eventually we break apart and he comes into my apartment. I manage to find a vase I didn't know I had and I fill it with water. He puts the flowers in the vessel and I end up putting them on my nightstand, the only surface not covered in papers and general accumulated crap. Son of a bitch. I should've cleaned. But then I remember their apartment, and decide he probably doesn't care.  
"So, what do you wanna do?" I ask.  
"I honestly don't know," he says, looking through my piles of junk. He picks up a small blue notebook I haven't looked at in years. My sixth grade journal. Fuck.  
"I was thinking of going to lunch, but... what's this?" He asks. I flush in embarrassment. I don't answer for a moment, "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to." I shake my head.  
"No, no, it's fine... that's my sixth grade journal," I laugh a little, nervously, "Um, it’s probably pretty embarrassing...” I trail off. He hands the little book to me.  
“Let’s not, then,” I appreciate his concern. I’m not sure what to do with it, so I go back into my bedroom and put it on my nightstand. He follows me in. I, being me, can’t help but think of the fact that he’s in my bedroom.  
“So,” I say, trying not to think about it.  
“So,” he says, “All this to get me in the bedroom?” Which really only makes things more awkward for me. And then I, of course, make things infinitely worse.  
“Well, if that’s what you’re suggesting...” I say, and he instantly goes pink. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? We both sit down on my bed. I could measure the distance between us in a hairs-breadth. We are infinitely closer than we had been before, save two nights ago. Which just makes me think of two nights ago, the physical and mental closeness of two people entangled on a couch at three in the morning. Which just makes me think of wanting to be that close again. Which makes me again do the stupid thing, and kiss him. It’s a bit like the night at the concert, but more... clean. Less like we’re never going to see each other again and more like a new beginning. His hand goes to the back of my neck and I’m not sure what to do with mine. One ends up in his hair and the other one lies limply at my side, wondering gently its purpose in life. He pulls back for a moment, and I smile.  
“Much better than going to lunch,” I say.  
“Much better than going to lunch,” he concurs.  
“I bet ten dollars Billie bet right,” I say, and Mike nods. I don’t know what Billie bet, but at this point, Billie doesn’t matter. It’s just me and Mike and the sunlight streaming in, once again in the fairy-circle of life.  
***  
I'm lying with him in my apartment, my head on his chest, his arm around my small body. It's cozy. That is one word I never thought I'd use to describe my life, but it is the one I'm using now. I don't know how long we've been here, minutes, hours, days, they all blur together. I trace the tattoo on his chest, an old, slightly faded oh-so-hardcore skull and bones, with one finger, and he stirs a little. A quiet reminder that he's not asleep. I can feel his heartbeat through his chest, going almost the same speed a my own, a relaxed, slow beat. So much different than earlier. But I like it. I like the calm after the storm. Not that I don't love the storm. Believe me, I do. But I like this too, the quiet intimacy of two people lying together, not doing anything, just lying together, a comfortable silence between them. Us, I think. Us. Us two lying together, not doing anything, just lying together, a comfortable silence between us. For once, I don’t think in terms of scatterbrained notes to self and scared self-consciousness. All of that floats away. We don’t say anything.  
I look over at the clock. It’s nearly one. I murmur this to Mike and he says it doesn’t matter, time doesn’t matter, but I do. Maybe this is what sweet nothings are. I never really understood that concept, but maybe now I do. He asks if I want something to eat.  
“I don’t think I have anything good,” I say into his chest. He kisses the top of my head.  
“We’ll find something, I’m sure,” he says, but neither of us make an action to move from our admittedly comfortable position.  
“Eventually,” I say.  
“Eventually,” he agrees. And eventually indeed. At some point we both fall asleep to the rhythm of each other’s breath. It doesn’t matter who falls asleep first or who hogs all the blankets, just that we’re there, together.


	9. In Which I Make The Best Mistake I've Ever Made: Jenny Rend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning; self-harm

I couldn't stop smiling, it just wasn't going to happen. He kissed me. He really kissed me. I could believe it, its not that I didn't want to but I simply couldnt. We drove home in the bookmobile, neither of us saying anything. Our faces said it all.  
We both walked into the apartment, and it was silent. Mike and Trè were nowhere to be found.  
"Not again. Not now, come on guys..." I heard Beej say to himself as he searched for them. I simply walked into the kitchen and grabbed a can of Coke and cracked it open, walking over to the couch and sipping the fizzy soda.  
Beej walked back out a minute later with neither of them and sat down next to me, maybe 4 inches between us.  
"They have to come back sooner or later, right?" He looked over at me, like a puppy who had just lost his brothers. God, was he adorable. I nodded to reassure him.  
"Yeah, they have to. I mean, Tré can't fit all the drugs in his leopard pants, and you still need Mike to cook for you, and he knows it." Beej smiled a bit. I succeeded. Now, all I needed was for them to actually come back, but not yet. It was nice having him to myself.  
A slight yawn escaped from me, just as he looked over. I turned my head, only to see him smiling  
"Someone tired already?" I rolled my eyes "well, to be fair we did have a pretty kick-ass laser tag war earlier." I smiled a bit as well as he chuckled quietly.  
"Yeah, I guess, I mean I did kick your ass." He teased, I punched him in the arm in a friendly way  
"Oh, shut up" I smiled. We continued to just tease each other about the battle and then came to an agreement that it was a tie, even though I clearly won.  
"Yeah, sure you did. Whatever you say." He rolled his eyes and I folded my arms across my chest.  
"I'm sure you've heard the saying that a woman's always right." He nodded a bit  
"Yeah, of course I have but that doesn't mean its true." A slight smirk began to grow across his face.  
We just sat there kind of awkwardly until the lights started to flicker, then all of them at once just went out.  
"Ah, fuck. Again?" He sighed, pushing himself off the couch and walking over to the phone and dialing someone. I didn't bother noticing the conversation, the only part that I really caught was when he yelled at the person on the other end with the casual, "I am not paying for my fucking power to go out every god damn week!" Then he slammed the receiver back into its spot on the wall. He sighed and I looked back to see his silhouette open a couple drawers and grab what looked like candles and lit them, setting them throughout the apartment and lighting them one by one.  
"Well, it's probably going to get pretty cold in here pretty fast. And the bedroom's open..." was he suggesting that we do what my father used to call 'the forbidden dance'? I nodded, not knowing what to say.  
I followed him to the messy yet large bedroom with what must have been a queen size bed in the middle with a few candles scattered around the room. I drop my jacket on the floor. He pulled open the comforter and I layed next to him, I put a distance between us for a reason I didn't even know but he soon eliminated that by moving right next to me"  
Being so far apart kind of eliminates the purpose of this, doesn't it?" I nodded once more, best I could anyway.  
"Yeah, I guess it does." I scooted myself right up next to him, pretty much as close as possible. I could hear his every breath, and I believe he could hear mine.  
"So, you still tired?" I was, kind of, but I didn't want to admit it just quite yet.  
"Not really, you?" He shook his head a bit.  
"Nah, its still early."  
"Yeah, I guess.." After this short exchange of words the room grew silent except for our now rhythmic breaths. I enjoyed it actually, it was relaxing. Soon I switched to more of a fetal position, and as did he, just around me. I could feel his heartbeat against my back. It was safe for once, I was safe. It was like no one could ever hurt me in any way ever again. I love it. I begin to doze off a little, his arms around me.  
"Have you ever thought about.. y'know.." the question startled me a bit, waking me up thoroughly. Of course I had, but I didn't want to seem like a creep.  
"Yeah, a little bit. How about you?" Was the answer I decided on.  
"Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you did too.. you wanna maybe, y'know.. try it?" I could almost feel him blushing at the suggestion, and I couldn't help doing the same.  
"Sure, I mean, I guess.." I smiled, uncontrollably. We were going to dance the forbidden dance. I am surprisingly okay with this. I rolled over to face him and as I did so, our eyes locked, it was nothing like how the movies made it look like, it was magical.  
I felt his hand land on my cheek, his thumb lightly brushing against my hot skin. I had to kiss him, so I did. I leaned in and our lips met. I pushed myself up against him once again as he pulled off his shirt, only briefly breaking our kiss. My eyes slowly scanned his bare chest, every little detail. Everything from the bare, almost olive-toned skin to an amazingly detailed black car. It was beautiful, he was beautiful, and I felt beautiful with him. My eyes slowly went back up to his face, the candle light flickering in his deep green eyes.  
"Are you just going to sit there and stare, leaving me hanging?" I snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice, taking in a deep breath, and pulled off my own shirt, revealing the scars from years past, I could feel him counting them, they overlapped into a mess of lines, beginning just a bit above my stomach, and ending about two inches above my belt line. I remember how each and every one got there, for each name I was called there was one scar. I couldn't look up at him. I knew he would be disappointed even though they were from years ago. I felt his hand underneath my chin, lifting my head. I forced myself to look up at him.  
"It's alright, we all have our own ways of remembering things." His gentle smile made me do the same. He leaned down, continuing the kiss. I did as I had learned earlier that day and rested my arms around his neck. I didn't want this moment to end, ever. But, of course the door opened, causing us to both to instinctively turn and look, to see Mike standing in the doorway.  
"Well, she was a bitch. She just wanted to date me for the possible fame and apparent money. Not to mention the fact that she was already snotty and a spoiled asshole." Mike continued to just vent about his date. I just looked up at Beej and smiled, he looked down at me, smiling as well and letting out a quiet yet obvious sigh, then looking back at Mike as he continued to vent. "Then, when it came to the check she outright made me pay for it! And after she had ordered the most expensive thing on the menu!!"  
Beej ran a hand through his hair, then rested it on his neck, just on top of mine.  
"Hate to break it to you buddy, but I can't be your therapist at the moment, but I'm sure Tré would love to listen to you.." I could feel the sadness coming from him as he left, but thank god he shut the door behind him. Beej and I turned, looking at each other then we both just started laughing, for really no reason.  
Slowly, we stopped and resumed the makeout party, as I'm going to call it, laying down as he pulled the sheet up and over us, but just before it fully covered us, the door whipped open. Again. Only to feel something pelted into my head. "Tré? Really?!" I heard Billie yell. "Just keep the noises PG-13 from now on, will you?!" I couldn't help but blush as Mike and Tré said this is sync. I wasn't entirely aware we had been making noises, let alone one that were rated R I grabbed the box and looked at the front. Condoms, of course. I sighed and tossed them off the bed, going back to our precious activity.


	10. In Which Jenny Blows This Popsicle Stand: River Smith

We wake up around five and this time, we actually get up. His hair is even more messy than it usually is, and I’m sure I look just as disheveled. We dress in silence and rendezvous in the kitchen, where we find that, yes, I have nothing good to eat.   
"Do you wanna go back to my place, or...?" He trails off.  
"Yeah, sure. Are Billie and Tré going to be there?" I ask. Then I notice. Somewhere along the line, I gave him a rather large hickey. He nods.  
"Probably, I mean, unless they've got something better to do."  
"We'll wanna cover that up, then," I say, closing the small distance between us and trailing the bruise on his neck. His hand follows mine. I lead him into the bathroom in front of the mirror.  
"Fuck," he says, "You really did a number on me, huh?"  
"Sorry about that," I say, digging through a drawer.  
"Nothing to be sorry about," he replies, and smiles, "It was worth it." I find what I was looking for and stand back up.  
"What's that?" He asks. I hold it up.  
"Concealer," I reply, "For the bruise." He nods and I open the little tub and dab a bit on his neck. He winces.  
“Sorry,” I say, again, and again, he tells me not to be sorry, “There. All covered up.” It’s little off, being that we’re not exactly the same skin tone, but at least he doesn’t have a giant obvious bruise anymore.  
“To my house, then?” he asks.  
“Yeah,” I reply, “I’m sure Billie and Tré’ll have everything to say.” We leave my apartment and he still fails to take his jacket, not that I mind. We ride the Bookmobile back to their apartment, a place that is already familiar to me. As we walk in, Billie wolf-whistles and neither of us says anything.  
“You were gone a while, man,” Tré says, “Lunch and dessert, eh?” Billie laughs at this.  
“Fuck off,” Mike says, and I nod, obviously not doing much for the situation. At this point, Tré comes up and gets really close to Mike’s neck. He pulls back instinctively. I should have figured they knew each other well enough to notice when they weren’t looking quite right. Tré moves back and looks Mike up and down.  
“Mikey, you seem to have a smudge upon your countenance!” Tré says. He takes his thumb and wipes off the concealer in one short motion, exposing the patch of dark skin and making Mike wince.  
“Christ!” Billie says, seeing the bruise, “What were you two doing?” He snickers. Neither of us is sure how to answer, so Tré takes the liberty.  
“Fiddling about,” he says with a sly smile. This cracks him and Billie Joe up and Mike and I pinken more than before, which really only makes the bruise stand out even more. We must look pretty upset, because Billie apologizes, or at least as much as one can when best friends are involved.  
“Oh, come on, man, you know we’re just giving you shit. You do the same for us. Remember when I first brought Jenny home? Tré tried to fucking drug her.”  
“Oh yeah,” Tré says, “I remember that! And when I brought home that Dahlia chick? You swore I smelled like patchouli for weeks afterward.” I love the camaraderie they have. They’ve known each other for so long, and I’m the newcomer, but that’s okay. I can be the newcomer if only to witness this, and maybe someday I won’t be the newcomer. Until then, I’ll stand here and smile as they recount old girlfriends and pranks. At some point, Mike cuts them off.  
“We came back to cook,” he says, “I’ll see what we have.” He goes into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the boys.  
“I’m sorry about all that,” Tré says, shocking me slightly, “We’ve known each other way too long.”  
“And, you know, you’re not that bad. Like I said, I’m just giving him shit. It’s what we do.”  
“Yeah. Now let’s go see what Mike’s making. He’s actually damn good at cooking. No clue where he learned it, but he learned it.” So we all walk into the tiny kitchen and crowd Mike, questioning him at every step like little kids, because, what the hell, it’s fun. He’s having none of it, though.  
“My fucking God, can you guys shut up for ten minutes? Go do something! River, you’re fine, you can stay,” he says, making me laugh, “Go!” BJ and Tré grumble at this.  
“Fine then, Mother Hen,” Tré says before they walk out. Even Mike laughs at this one, but still threatens to hit him with a spatula. He’s making burgers. I finally notice that Jenny hasn’t been here the whole time.  
“Hey, where’s Jenny?” I ask. He shrugs, flipping a burger over in the pan.  
“I have no clue,” he says, “She does this sometimes, just leaves for a day or two or seven. Beej gets pissed. If she’s not back by tonight I’m sure there’ll be a meltdown.” I nod.  
“Where does she go?” I ask.  
“Can’t tell you that,” he says, and smiles a little, sadly, as if there’s something to be missed. I sigh.  
“I feel like you guys have a... history.... Like you’ve known each other forever, right?”  
“Yeah... yeah. Our moms knew each other before they both went batshit. We were tight. We both left home and ended up in this community of squats. We kept moving around, house to house, and sometimes we’d see the same people, but most of the time we just had each other. I was there when she became Jenny Rend. And she was there when I gave up my fucked-up mom’s name. She was Pritchett. I got her name cause my dad wasn’t around. I met him one time. Took me to a baseball game. I must have been... Twelve? Yeah, twelve, and that was when she started on the drugs. So we... we know each other on a basic level.” He takes a deep breath. I put a hand on the small of his back.  
“I... I don’t know what to say,” I say.  
“I don’t either. That’s the most I’ve ever said about myself at once. So... there you go, I guess. And she will come back. She always does.” He finishes the burgers in silence. I understand. Well, I don’t, but I do. I understand the telling thing. But the family thing- yeah, my parents were divorced, but we never had any problems. He has me help him.  
“Will you throw some buns in the toaster?” He throws a package at me and I do so.  
“Got it!” We’re still comfortable. Sometimes, in a relationship- not that I’ve been in many of those, but I’ve seen them crash and burn- one will tell the other all, and that one will tell everyone, and shit’s fucked. You don’t abuse someone’s trust like that, and I think Mike knows that I know this. We don’t talk, so it isn’t loud until I hear the shouting over the phone.  
“Don’t fucking do this, Jenny!” I hear BJ yell. Something on the other side. A click. “Fuck.” Billie punctuates his frustration with a stream of curse words like no other I have ever seen. Mike puts the burgers on a plate and walks calmly out into the living room.  
“Are you okay, Billie?” he says in a calm, soothing tone. I poke my head out into the room to see them both sitting on the couch, Beej’s head in his hands, one of Mike’s arms around him.  
“No,” he states plainly. Mike sighs.  
“What even happened?” he asks.  
“Jenny took the Bookmobile and fucking left us,” the blue-haired man replies. He’s sobbing a bit now, “Says she doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”   
“Fuck,” Mike says, “She really did, huh?”  
“But what if she doesn’t come back?” Billie asks. He sits up and looks at Mike, wide-eyed, “she wouldn’t do that to us, would she?” Mike shakes his head and pulls the smaller man into a hug.  
“She won’t do that to us,” Mike says.  
“You don’t know that, though! She could!”  
“I know her, Billie Joe. I’ve known her almost my whole life. She won’t fucking leave us.” He releases Billie.  
“But how do you know?” he asks. He is like a child, wondering how his parents know morning will come again. Mike sighs again.  
“Because she loves you, you idiot.” Billie Joe smiles weakly.  
“I guess you’re right,” he says. But I can tell he’s not already convinced, because he feels in his bones that once the light goes out, the sun won’t come up. Mike nods and stands up. As he walks back into the kitchen, he shoots a look back at the man on the couch.  
“Are you sure you’re okay?”  
And Billie stays silent.


End file.
